


Learning How to Fall

by cloudwatcher13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Broken John, Broken Sherlock, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Jealousy, M/M, Mind Palace, Nightmares, References to Drugs, Trust Issues, relationship Holmes brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:45:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 58
Words: 114,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1805806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudwatcher13/pseuds/cloudwatcher13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft falls in love by accident but can't help it. An event that changes everything for him and Sherlock  and consequently John as both brothers finally have to admit to doing friendship and having feelings after all. Dark family secrets are revealed in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mycroft Refuses to Fall in Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fanfiction and fiction in general. Comments and suggestions for improvement are very welcome. I do not own any of the characters.

It was no common occurrence for Mycroft to visit the British library for no purpose at all as he despised wasting his time in unproductive ways. So it came also to his own surprise when he felt the sudden need to escape the pressing summer heat of London by slipping into the cool and silent surroundings of the elegant and inviting building instead of quickly passing by on his way to lunch. With a nod he freed himself from the two men that were to follow him whenever he moved around outside his natural habitat of offices and mansions, meeting rooms and private clubs. Upon entering, he felt like the subtle smell oft used books and the background sound of people turning pages and trying to move silently would soothe his strained nerves. It had been a particularly bad day, the sudden and unexpected resurrection of Moriarty intertwined his work and private life in a way he usually tried to avoid. It had turned the office into a proper madhouse buzzing with nervous energy and aggression. Sherlock was even harder to handle and keep in check than usually since John had given into the temptation of establishing a private life of his own, putting Sherlock and their work in second place of his agenda. The challenge and new circumstances brought out both, the worst and best in his brother. According to John’s last update his brother had not slept for what was now about forty hours. Mycroft needed a break.

  
Strolling along the long corridors of shelves he breathed in, the cool, slightly dusty air forced his rioting brain to relax. No one took any notice of the middle aged man in what would best be described as an inoffensive, but pricy suit. He had developed the gift of making himself invisible, of going unnoticed by his surroundings. A skill that had saved his life more than once in the hallways of Eton. His encounters with raging schoolboys who felt threatened by his deductions and insights into what they believed to be of the most private matter taught him to keep to himself and manipulate unnoticed by his victims. He could not help but smirk at the idea that those people had thus formed him and given him skills that now were vital parts of his career. He had bypassed most of them on his way up and in weak moments like this one he could not help but feel a guilty pang of satisfaction building between his rips and abdomen. Despite his numerous and desperate attempts to spare his younger brother the same painful lessons by passing on his insights on what they call society, that little bundle of nervous energy and uncontrolled emotions had refused to listen. Still had that suicidal tendency to sacrifice himself for the sake of proving everybody else wrong about everything.

  
Mycroft had wandered into the history section of the library without noticing and began running his fingers idly along the back of rows and rows of books. The fabric beneath his fingertips caused a soothing sensation and brought him back from thoughts he was only half aware of. Reaching a pool of tables for reading he suddenly felt exhaustion overpowering him and placed himself into one of the chairs in the warm spotlight of a reading light. Across the room his eyes caught on a small figure with eyes firmly glued to the pages of the book in front, slender fingers running along the lines, lips slightly parted as they formed the words in silent recitation. Bemused by the strange look of undivided attention at that young female’s face, he began to wonder what book it was that held the reader so captivated. And the habit of deduction surfaced and he had no more energy to stop it. The age and clothing identified the young woman as a student, most likely some Master’s degree, judging by her age, or at least someone associated with academic work, though it surely did not yet pay her bills. She wore cheap shoes and the seams of her sleeves were slightly worn. Ink stains on the left hand gave her away as a hopeless romantic who still clang to the habit of writing with a fountain pen. The complete absorption into the task of reading conveyed that she surely kindled enthusiasm for the subject at hand. It probably was something from the realm of the fine arts, why would someone who was in such hurry and need to read take it upon himself to find a seat in the history and literature department if one did not require the books from this section? Surprised by his own interest to discover the exact title of the young woman's read, he found himself thinking of ways to find out. He could just wait for her to get up and then follow her as she replaced the book, but what if it took her longer than his lunchbreak allowed him to wait? For some reason he suddenly felt the information of existential importance to his own wellbeing and he could not help but frown at himself, so much illogical sentiment. A short flush of heat reached his cheeks when the thought crossed his mind that he might be about to fall in love. Recollecting all that was left of his logic abilities from the four corners of his brain, he convinced himself that only finding out would stop the silliness of this experience already lasting too long to be excused on any account. He got up from his chair and turned around a row of shelves. He hoped that the woman had not noticed him sitting there and staring at her for what was the better half of ten minutes as this could turn this entire matter into a quite embarrassing situation.

He was taking the long way around the room, always covering himself behind a wall of shelves and books in order to give himself the time to recollect and plan the next move. The reader had not lifted her head once since Mycroft had spotted her and that made him built enough courage to approach her table, convincing himself that she would not have noticed him just yet. She wore her hair short, the fringe stuck behind her ears to keep it from falling into her face and blocking her sight. An expression of excitement and awe played on her features as her fingers kept running along the page. He cleared his throat and tried to place an assuring smile on his tired face. It took the woman about two and a half seconds to make a connection between the sound and the intruder standing at her desk and another one to lift her head from the page, placing her index finger on the very spot she was forced to leave off.

"Excuse me for interrupting you, but you seem to be using the very book I most urgently require. It would be of the greatest kindness if I could just borrow it for a second to make a copy of the respective pages."

He could see her brain processing the information whispered to her and could not avoid to sigh relieved when it produced a coy smile on her face.

"Of course." she muttered under her breath, nervously placing little pieces of paper between pages as bookmarks. He accepted the book from her hand as she held it out to him and forced himself to walk slowly around the corner of another row of shelves before opening the front page of the book to finally retrieve the title of the book. It was a compendium of Renaissance poetry, a reprint of a nineteenth century edition to be precise. The little makeshift bookmarks stuck in the section with poems from Spenser's Astrophil and Stella. Mycroft felt thrilled and uneasy at the same time. He had hoped to find her reading something trivial so he could just return the book and go on with his life, return the book and leave, but that somehow now seemed completely impossible, which caused his breath to catch and his thoughts to swirl at breathtaking speed. He jumped when he suddenly felt a finger tapping onto his arm.

"Ahm, sorry but I think they moved the copy machine to the other side." The woman pointed to a newly built glass cubicle at the end of the hallway on the other side of the room. He blankly stared into her face for what would have been seconds.

"Sorry, I just thought... Because I always lose my way around here all the time as well... I did not mean to rush you...not that you seem lost in any way....sorry, sorry no offence intended." His continued stare seemed to unsettle her and she began to stutter. He could not help but keep staring until he saw her cheeks blush, not able to force himself to react until then.

"None taken thank you, how considerate of you." He gestured her to lead the way and followed her to the copier.

  
When Mycroft left the library about an hour later, he was way beyond his schedule but desperately held on to a copy of a compendium of Renaissance poetry with a phone number scribbled on the first page.


	2. Dinner at Baker Street

By the time he sat in the back of his car going through files from his suitcase, the whole episode appeared to him more and more surreal. Carefully he revisited the collected data of his encounter in his mind. Nerves, he told himself decidedly. But what was it then, that had brought this illogical fascination about? Once more, he zoomed into the moment he had begun to notice the woman, Emily. He had felt a sense of recognition when he witnessed with how much determination she had gone about the task before her. Lured into the book, irreproachably removed from this world. The insight hit him with full force once it reached his consciousness. She had worn the same expression of determination that Sherlock usually had when caught up in what he called "work" in the most euphemistic of ways. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. No midlife crisis, no hormonal malfunction, just nerves he told himself relieved.

Anthea’s expression shifted between worried and annoyed when he finally entered the office. She immediately began to rattle away about rescheduled meetings and new information retrieved on foreign affairs. He noticed relieved that he was able to focus again. Once his office door had closed behind them, she slowed down and took a look at him. He pretended hard he didn’t notice. To little effect.

"Myc? Where were you?"

He cleared his throat. "Private matters. I am sorry for causing you trouble. I do not intend to turn it into a habit. Now, where were we?"

He tried to close the subject and offered her a weak smile. Anthea frowned and pulled out files that she began to spread on the desk in front of him. The copy from the library found its way into the top drawer of his desk unnoticed by a dozen people entering for another briefing. 

Anthea recollected the files once everybody else had left. Her face looked more relaxed now. He couldn’t help but notice that her blouse by now slightly strained over her belly. Another month and she would be leaving him behind to face this mess alone. An entire year of maternity leave. He dreaded the thought of losing her, her presence that kept him grounded like nothing else.

“I left the applications with your secretary. With your permission she will start scheduling interviews by Monday.” He was sometimes convinced that she could read his thoughts and strangely enough, he didn’t mind.

“I need you to run a background check on someone.”

He handed her a slip of paper upon which he had scribbled that Emily’s name and phone number. “Consider it done.” she smiled as she rushed out of the office. 

By the time he looked up from his work again, it had turned pitch dark outside. Mycroft stretched his back and summoned a car. On his way out he found the file on Emily sitting on his secretary’s desk. He picked it up and stuffed it into his briefcase with the latest report on Mary. He had taken the liberty of looking into what John and Sherlock had decided to simply ignore. Better safe than sorry. However, it seemed like there were no more dark secrets hidden, for now. 

John rubbed his hands over his face and looked at his pregnant wife who had fallen asleep in his chair at Baker Street. She had insisted on coming along as he had joined Sherlock for another night of research for the Moriarty case. It was going nowhere. Sherlocks markers did ot move or react and though Mycroft had bis best people set onto working out how Moriarty or whoever it was had hacked himself into nearly every computersystem in the country, it all came down to absolutely nothing. Strangely enough, Sherlock seemed to cope relatively well. The tall man faced the wall that was covered in files and evidence. He hadn't talked to anyone for hours and John wondered if Sherlock felt the cold that was slowly creeping into the flat as the fire had burned down some time ago. When he moved to the chair to pull a blanket over Mary he heard all too familiar steps on the stairs. Mycroft entered and took in the scene with a single glance across the room. Sherlock aknowledged bis brother's arrival with nothing but a slight, almost invisible movement of two fingers and kept staring at the wall. Mycroft made bis way to the kitchen silently and placed a plastic bag on the counter. Since that plane had touched the ground again to bring Sherlock back for another round of Moriarty's deadly game, the relationship between the brothers had changed considerably. Their little game of rivalry had become a mere facade Sherlock kept up to hide their uneasiness about those new feelings, their fear and worry for each other. 

"How long?"

"We are well into his third night" John sighed as he leaned algainst hte counter in the kitchen.

"Patches?"

"Four that I am aware of. He had some toast this morning and two spoons of Mary's ice cream."

Mycroft opened the microwave, removed a tray of human fingers and wrinkled his nose at the strange smell. He replaced it with a container of curry and turned the knob. They stood in silence next to each other and watched the unmoved statue that was Sherlock Holmes. His curls stood from his head in the most unruly way and sometimes John was convinced the state of them conveyed the emotions of their bearer. He was barefoot, the silk dressing gown slipping from his bare, right shoulder. The ring of the microwave woke both of them from their meditation and Mycroft turned to empty the container onto a plate. He insisted on eating from a plate, though he had by now given up the habit of trying to find himself a spot on the cluttered table of his brother's flat. John put another container from the plastic bag into the microwave and started to heat it. He fought his reflex to start a conversation with the older Holmes. Silence seemed not to make him or his brother uncomfortable and so John had adjusted his habits to theirs after some very embarrassing attempts of striking up a conversation over late night take away. Once Mycroft stepped out of his professional self and that was what had begun to happen once he entered the living room of Baker Street, the resemblance in behaviour between him and Sherlock was striking. He didn't bother with social convention and unashamadly retreated to his own thoughts, aknowleding the existence of the outside world only if convenient.

 "Its curry." Mycroft mumbled as he cleared himself a spot on the floor to sit. The movement began in the curls and slowly spread through the whole of Sherlock's body. The first flex of muscles he allwoed himself in hours, John thought and almost felt the pain himself. The three of them sat on the floor tugging into their take away. John rested his head against the curled up form of his sleeping wife, sitting on the floor in front of what used to be his chair and watched what he still referred to as a miracle unfold in front of his eyes. The two brothers entered into what could be called a conversation in the broadest sense.

 "He agreed to come and help. I will meet him at the office tomorrow. Care to come?" 

"I'll try and keep my contact with your minions to a minimum, thank you." 

" It was your idea after all." Mycroft snapped back.

Curiosity getting the better of him, John opened his mouth to request clarification. Sherlock cut him off. "That hacker that everybody seems to hype at the moment. Mycroft made him want to help." He gave Mycroft a very deformed smile.

 "He is not a hacker! He is a professor for computer languages in Zurich. He is said to be good at what he does and might find the source of that virus. He is also said to be...different." Mycroft added silently.

"As in not a goldfish." Sherlock clarified for John between two forks of curry. 

"Why don't you go and meet him then?" John tried to sound encouragingly. Any new data, any reason to leave the flat would help to keep that next fit of depressive mood off a little longer. He wouldn't be able to come around as much the next week due to his work and he worried about what state he would find Sherlock in once he returned to Baker Street at the weekend. Last weeks experiment of caring for Sherlocks wellbeing from his workplace by having shopping delivered to the flat still vividly played in Johns mind. Sherlock had only noticed the bags in front of his door when the smell of rotting food interrupted his flow of thoughts. 

"So why didn't you simply throw them away?" John had asked him in the back of a taxi that took them back from the police station where Sherlock had been held arrested for shooting at the delivery boy through the closed door. 

"You always took care of these....things. I have no idea where the bins are!" 

"So quite litterally dissolving the problem by pouring acid over the bags and shooting the delivery boy seemed like an appropiate action?" John had not been granted a relpy.

On the back of bis head John felt Mary moving. Little sounds escaped her as she slowly came back to conscious. 

"It might be time you take her home, that chair can hardly be comfortable." Sherlock lifted himself from the floor. "The calories must have entered his system by now" John thought as he finally witnessed Sherlock's eyelids to grow heavy with sleep. Sherlock turned towards his bedroom slightly swaying on his feet. Once sleep came to him, it was a matter of minutes before he dropped wherever he happened to be.

"I'll drop by tomorrow and inform you about any progress. Try not to set fire to yourself until then, brother mine." Mycroft picked up his jacket. "Would you like me to drop you off Dr. Watson?"

 "That would be great, yes thank you." Mary answered with a witty smile.


	3. There is no such Thing as Coincidence

His housekeeper had left long ago when he turned the key on his door. The house was empty and silent. Mycroft turned on the lights and dropped his briefcase on the little table in the entrance hall. He slowly removed his jacket and cufflings, picked up some mail and strolled towards the living room. There was an invitation to a formal dinner at the American embassy, some tickets for that New play and bills from his tailor. He wondered if other people ever received more interesting mail and if there was still some ice cream in the fridge. For some reason he could see his brother's mocking face before his eyes as he gave into his craving and filled a bowl with vanilla ice cream, chocolate sauce and whipped cream. 

The bed in his master bedroom was ridicously spacious. Back when he had moved into the town house that horrid interior designer had insisted that anything smaller would look strangely out of proportion in such a big room. He crawled into between the sheets and turned on the TV. He swallowed the last bits of ice cream from his bowl and tried to concentrate onto some late night talk about the upcoming vote. Through the white windows that opened toward the balcony, he saw some stars twinkling in the sky. Tomorrow he wouldn't remember when he fell asleep and what he dreamed about, but he would wake with a strange feeling of yearning and a very distant memory of sitting in a library and watching stars falling into his lap out of a very black sky.

 

The needle of his chain watch had not yet reached the twelve entirely when there was knock at the door. Mycroft smoothed down his vest and got up from his chair. "Mr Holmes, Jonathan Peerson is here to see you with his assistant."

"Thank you Anthea, just send them right through." 

It was a right shock to the system when he turned around and found himself looking into Emily's face. She was dressed in black trousers and a blouse standing behind a young man with a briefcase in hand. Had it not been for several ink stains on her hands and even one on her left ear, she would have blended in well with the rest of the office staff.

"Hello!" she smiled. That's what you call a coincidence I assume."

Mycroft didn't believe in coincidences but he believed in fate even less. What were the probabilities of him chattig up the assistant of the very computer specialist he desperatly needed to sort out the Moriarty mess. He had not only chatted her up, he had pretended to need that poetry book she was reading. How on earth was he to explain all that?

"We met at the library yesterday, I told you about it." she said to the young professor. He nodded slightly and held his hand out to Mycroft. He took it and tried very hard to avoid any eye contact with Emily as he took them into the computer room where his people had been running tests for more than a week now, without any considerable results. The young professor did not bother long with any social conventions and started to ask precise and short questions. Within minutes he had vanished into the room glancing at prints and computer screens, quietly giving out short orders. Emily had stayed behind, next to Mycroft still holding on to her briefcase.

"So you are his assistant?" He immediatly felt heat building at his collar. "Stating the obvious, very clever move Mycroft!" he heard his brother's voice in his head.

"I'm also his sister." she uttered a little too quickly. "He just took me along to, ahm, organize some of his things. I have no idea of these..." she continued, waving her hand vaguely across the room cramped with computers. "You will notice that he needs someone to organize his business so he can concentrate on his work. Don't be put off by his behaviour, he is just not good at socialising and things like that." She had begun to fiddle with the lock on her briefcase. Her fingers slightly trembled. What was she so nervous about? "Which brings me to this." She held out several pages to him. "I know this seems ridiculous but you will find that keeping some of these things in mind makes working with him a lot easier. Mycroft looked at the papers and couldn't help but smile.

"You wrote a manual on your brother?" 

"Don't tell him. One of his former colleagues actually suggested it."

Mycroft glanced over the pages. "We actually arranged for Jonathan to stay at an appartment here in the building. If I had known that there were two of you..."

"Oh, don't worry, I already started looking into finding a room for our time here." 

He stared at his feet. The thought he toyed with was the logical conclusion to the situation as it presented itself to him. After all she seemed acquainted with what it meant to deal with genius bordering to the brink of madness. It would mean that there would be someone to call the fire brigade and someone who would call him in case of a major explosion or another fit of post-John depression. It would mean that there would be someone who understands what it means to feel responsibility for the wellbeing of a sibling. 

He cleared his throat. " I think you would love to meet my brother."

Found you a flatmate, possibly. She will join us for dinner. MH

 

I don't require a nanny. SH

 

Do you know where the bins are? SH

 

Please do not put any used body parts into your garbage again. It took quite some "convincing" towards the police last time. Ask Molly to pick them up or something. MH

 

She won't talk to me. I deduced her new beau. He has an affair with their boss. SH

 

Bring milk. And tea. SH

 

And a new teapot. SH

 

Does 8 pm suit you? MH

 

Tell her to bring a jumper, there was a little incident that made one of the windows break. SH

 

How small? MH

 

See you tonight! SH

 

For some reason Mycroft dreaded their ride to Baker Street. He had agreed to pick her up in front of the library where she had spent the day. The whole incident just brought back memories of friends visiting their house for the summer and never returning because Sherlock was....well so very much himself sometimes. Other than his brother he had given into his mother's pleading and tried to befriend other children. By the time he was fifteen, he hat given up any attempts in that field. 

The click of the door brought him back from a room in bis mind palace he didn't use that often. 

"Hey, good evening!" She crawled into the back seat and looked him all over which made him more uncomfortable than he was ever willing to admit. For some reason her perfume brought back that feeling of being showered in falling stars, it made him run down corridors in his mind palace he had mostly forgotten about, where music played he had once played on his piano for entire nights.

"Sentimental git!" Sherlock leaned next to the door the music came from and smiled at him victoriously. "Why dont you just admit it, you like her." Sherlock sneered the last word. "It was about time you found yourself another pressure point, but me."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Mycroft very decidedly closed the door to the room the music streamed out of, just to find the airdraught pushing open a window across the hallway, white curtains swinging in the sudden flow of air. And out of a sudden he stood on a cliff looking over a long richly golden beach where waves crashed with enormous power and roaring sound.

"I always knew you had the biggest heart of us all. You always care, for everybody." Sherlock stood behind him whispering into his ear. 

"Look at where caring took you, what it does to you, brother mine! You don't leave your flat any more, you sulk on the couch. One of us has to keep it together. One of us has to keep the show running!" Mycroft was facing his brother now, who still smiled knowingly, his coat floating in the wind. Sherlock walked away from him, facing him and opening his arms like a bird its wings. "You don't have to make my mistakes. Just avoid doing this!" With that his brother turned around, arms stretched out, he let himself fall off that cliff, falling into that roaring sea. The sky turned very dark and the waves leached up.

Mycroft gasped for breath as he came back to his seat in that black car. "I'm very sorry, I just had a tense day." He rubbed his hands over his face to hide the leftovers of emotions showing on it.

"I don't mind... I'm used to... that silence." A faint smile played on her lips and she turned towards the window to watch the lights of London at night coming alive.

 

The evening went surprisingly well. Emily and Sherlock seemed to click almost immediatly as she listened to his theories about the case at hand with interest. She never interrupted, but offered small questions that seemed to keep his flow of thought on track. He wondered if this was what it looked like when she worked with her brother. If this was how she assisted, by organizing and following thought streaming from someone else's mind.

"Right, you can leave her here. She's tolerable." Sherlock declared as he let himself fall onto the couch theatrically as always. 

"Is she indeed?" Mycroft looked at the mess of curls, his face steepled in his hand as his forehead turned into a array of wrinkles.

"Unless you would like her to stay somewhere else?" Sherlock gave him a questioning look.

"Don't drug her, don't hurt her, don't scare her away. She could prove quite important for ...work. It's only temporary." he added that last bit mostly speaking to himself.

"No it isn't! It never is." 

"What could you possibly mean?" Mycroft asked him with fake annoyance. Sherlock refused him an answer and strolled to the kitchen. 

 

His housekeeper was slightly surprised when she heard Mr Holmes playing the piano that night. She couldn't remember the last time he had done so being home alone. She knew he was a good player, he had once played a short piece at one of his dinner parties, causing the women present to sigh in melancholy. But that usually was very much in vain. She had worked for him for three long years now and never in that time had he brought anyone back here but that PA. She would never dare to comment, Mr Holmes did not appreciate such closeness though he took interest in her life. It came with the job, she supposed. She took another look at the man in his living room whose hands so elegantly flew over the keys. His sleeves were rolled up, a look of intense concentration held his face captured. Something was in the air most certainly. It wasn't just the playing, this morning a package had been delivered by a book shop. "English poetry- from the beginning to the present" the title had read much to her surprise. She waited for him to hit that last note before she entered. For some reason she felt like it would cause him embarassment had he known her to be listening. There was something very intimate about the way he played that piano.

"Is there anything else Mr Holmes?" 

"No thank you."

"I shall be on my way then."

With that she silently closed the door to the living room. She heard the playing resume as she turned out the lights in the kitchen.

 

Mycroft played until his fingers refused to oblige to his will. He hadn't known how much he had missed it, the cathartic effect on unwanted feeling. He wasn't in love, he refused to be. And that's all it took, some determination to end follies like that. If he was lucky his brother and Emily took so well to each other that she would stay with him and thus lightening his burden of care for Sherlock. If that meant the two of them becoming an item, he would be happy to accept. It would be all for the best. 

His mobile buzzed. With a sigh he picked it up and prayed this was not about Baker Street.

How did it go? JW

 

They seem to get along well. MH

 

Good. I must admit I was sligntly worried when you told me about it. JW

 

There is no reason to be. Will you be visiting over the weekend? MH

 

Oh you bet I will. Need a change of air quite badly. JW

 

The bliss of married life... There have been considerable advances with regard to the case. Her brother uncovered a server it might all came from. MH

 

Brilliant. Will I see you there then as well? JW

 

Certainly at some point. MH

 

"You are in trouble!" Anthea fluted with a nod of the head towards the office door. He tried to glimpse at the figure waiting in his antechamber. Too late, the woman was already about to enter. 

"Mr Holmes, so good to actually catch you at your desk."

"How can I help you?"

"I have just been informed by the staff department that you still have not handed in any application for leave this year. Or the year before for that matter."

Mycroft looked genuinly confused. 

"Well, first there was the crisis in the Middle East and then I took over the negotiations with Washinton from..."

"There always is a crisis." She cut him off mid sentence. "If we would all wait for them to cease, no one here would ever take leave."

He still failed to see the problem. He had never understood why anyone would like to take leave. As he failed to produce a reply, his supervisor handed him a form.

"I must insist that you take at least some days of leave immediatly, otherwise we are facing labour legislatory consequences." He stared at the form on his desk.

"We have been making progress on Moriarty and I will not jeapordise that for the sake of some ridiculous legislation upon how and where I spend my freetime." 

"I refuse to prolong this conversation Mr Holmes, as this is not up for discussion." with that she got up and turned to leave.

"I'm sure you will find someone to keep the strings in hand until your return. Three days is all I'm asking. Visit your family, or take some days on the coast." She tried to sound reconciliatory. With that she left. 

"You could have given me a warning!" he hissed. Anthea smiled at him.

"No, because you need that break. You are not quite yourself lately."

"That's not like you either, teaming up on me, with her of all people."

She gave him another smile. "I will keep an eye on Peerson and have you informed on any progress."

He snorted. He knew he had been irritable and less concentrated than usual but he just couldn't see how a holiday should change that. What was he to do for three days and an entire weekend? What did people do in their freetime? 


	4. Lost at Home

 

He had never noticed that the sun reached his living room around two in the afternoon and drew little patterns onto the wooden floor. Until just now he also hadn't noticed that he had indeed a wooden floor. The door opened without a knock. The housekeeper put a tray of cleaning utensils onto the coffeetable and began dusting.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Potter!" His housekeeper jumped and shrieked.

"Mr Holmes! You are home? Are you alright? Would you like me to call a doctor?"

The last time he had been home so early was when he had come home after a "business trip" and had been shot into his left arm. 

"No,no everything alright Mrs Potter, apparently I'm on holiday."He chewed on the word as if it caused him physical pain.

"Oh, how....extravagant." They both looked at each other quite lost.

"Don't let me interrupt you, I'll just go... somewhere." With that he went up the stairs. He wondered where those theatre tickets had gone to. After all he was to pass the time somehow and he remembered enjoying taking guests and business partners to plays or the opera. He felt ridiculous in his three part suit aimlessly wandering around his own house. He was so completely out of place. 

Standing in his walk-in closet, he noticed that he owned well above fifty shirts and matching ties, but not a single pair of trousers he could have worn to sit in a café at Regent's Park. Just one more, final proof that he didn't do this. This was pointless. He ruffled his ginger hair in desperation. All the people he knew would be at work now, the only place he could go was Baker Street and he had made a very determined decision to keep away from his brother and his new flatmate. He forced himself to take out one shirt, simply just one and wear it, without tie. 

"Mrs Potter, I think I will be going to town. Where would one go to buy clothes?" He stood on the landing of the stairs looking down on her.

"Why, I could always call your tailor and ask him to come here."

He huffed with desperation. "No, thank you that is not what I was...never mind."

He opened a search engine on his phone and typed in: shopping in London. One of the first hits referred him to Harrods. " Very well then." He clapped his hands to encourage himself.

 

"Mycroft? Is that really you?" A female voice behind him cried out. He turned around, dropping a pair of jeans in the process that he had been looking at. He cleared his throat to produce an appropriate reply but never got that far as Mary's arms were already flung around him. She pressed him towards her rather hard. His arms hung somewhat helplessly at his sides as he tried to calm the uneasy feeling that touching people sometimes gave him. 

"You know that you have two rather intimidating looking men following you?" she winked.

"Yes, and would you believe it, I pay them to do so." 

"What are you doing here? Never thought you would be someone doing his shopping himself."

"And never have done so so far. Just thought it might be important data what exactly people find to be the appeal in this." He knew that she was looking right through him. 

"Need any help then?"

"Aren't you here for some ahm, purpose of your own?" He made a feeble attempt to free himself. She waved a pink plastic bag before bis eyes in response. 

"Done already. These are only so many baby clothes one can buy in a day."

And so he ended up buying jeans and a shirt with Mary and eating ice cream in a café at a street corner.

"So your boss really forced you to take time off?" She giggled and he rolled his eyes out of habit.

"So do you have any plans for the weekend?"

"Mr Holmes, I am a married woman after all." Another wave of giggles escaped her.

"Well, John is plannig on spending the weekend with Sherlock and I figured I would be a rather unwelcome additional assett, so I will stay home and watch telly or something." He listened for any hurt in her utterance but found none. 

"Are you planning on going over?"

"Not if I can avoid it." He smoothed down his new shirt as he said it and looked at his finger tips. 

 

The corridor had changed since the last time he had visited. And he hadn't planned on going down this path. But he had seen it a long time coming that he was losing control over his mind palace to some degree. And on the brink to sleep he lacked any energy to refuse the call. It was dark around him. The door he had heard the music coming from upon his last visit now stood open, golden light and swing music streaming out of it. As he came nearer he noticed the heavy almost narcotic smell of Chanel No. 5. It was all he needed to know who was waiting for him on the other side. She leaned against his piano in a very seductive way. 

"Irene." It was all he was able to say. 

"Mycroft. So good of you to come by once more to say good bye." She lifted a little suitcase from behind the piano.

"You are leaving? Why?"

"It seems like you are about to let this room out to someone else." She smiled. "Don't look at me like that. You have every reason to get rid of me. Still, I enjoyed our time back then."

"Why did you end it then? Why did you have to choose that... profession? I offered you my help so many times. You could have become something so much better if you had accepted to come with me." The words hurt in his throat as he uttered them. He felt like a child trying hard not to cry.

"Why do you always have to save people? Some of us just don't want to be saved. And just because we got along well at uni...who is to say if it had turned out so much different, had I stayed with you." She put on a black coat made from a very shiny fabric showing off her perfect, long legs.

"I can't believe you still kept me here, after all I did to you. But you and your brother, you never go through with revenge. You take my phone and my cover and then you have me saved yet once more. Do make up your mind."

"I never told Sherlock about the exact nature oft our acquaintance. But I guess he figured it out himself."

"And he did everything to spare you any pain. You both are always such good boys." She was mocking him.

"You are very much mistaken about me giving this room to anyone new any time soon." He shuffed bis hands into bis pockets to hide his fingers trembling. With one hand she covered his eyes and so forced him to close them. He felt the warm brush of her lips on his, he reached out but his hands only reached into air. She was gone. There was nothing left when he opened his eyes and looked around, nothing but a picture of him and her from the one summer they spent together before he began to work for the government and she decided to refuse the same offer.

 


	5. Sandwiches in the Rain

The ringing of the phone woke him from a very uneasy slumber on the couch. 

"Yes?"

"Mycroft? This is Emily. I'm sorry to call so late but I didn't know who else to call. My brother is still at the office and won't pick up the phone."

"It's quite alright. What can I do for you?"

"See, I wanted to go and see a movie and on the map it looked like the theatre was just around the corner, so I started walking and when I noticed I had got lost I got onto the tube."

"Do you have any idea where you are?"

"Not really, no. I'm so sorry. I tried to stop a cab but they don't. I don't want to call Sherlock."

And with that he was wide awake. "Did you get into a fight?"

"Not us, no. But John is with him and well, I just felt in the way."

"Stay where you are. Now describe me exactly what you can see."

 

Since had been grounded and wouldn't have to go to work, he had sent his driver home. So the tube it was. It took him only minutes to figure out she wasn't far from his place. It had started to rain in a constant drizzle. When he came up the stairs, he spotted her immediatly in the crowd, she was standing under the roof of some shop, clasping her hands. Her eyes lightened up when she recognized him. He smiled and waved as he opened his umbrella. She hurried towards him and stopped only just before she would touch. She looked up to him and hurriedly stepped back.

"For how long have you been wandering around?" He drew the umbrella closer over her.

"What time is it?" 

"Around ten I presume."

"For some three hours then." She blushed.She definetly had no sense of direction if she had only made it this far and couldn't find her way back. 

"I'm sorry about this. You look so tired. Did I wake you up?"

"No, not exactly." Out of a sudden insight he pointed towards a sandwich shop that was still open. "Would you care to tell me what drove you out of the flat?"

"It's not like he has done anything. He really is nice. It's just...I don't think John likes me very much. I didn't want to interfere with the work by causing trouble. So I went out. Not quite sure he noticed." She took off her jacket and ruffled her damp hair. Little pearls of water dropped from strands of her hair, glistening in the light of a streetlight in front of the window behind her.The rain glazed the street and made it glisten. Once again he was reminded of falling stars and his heart jumped at the strange memory.

 

Mycroft began to type out a text to Sherlock while she ordered herself tea and a ploughman's sandwich.

 

"She's with me. Are you alright?" MH

 

"John had a row with Mary. Bad mood. Probably will sleep on the couch again." SH

 

He looked at her curious how to start a conversation. He settled for going with the topic at hand. 

"You know, there are things about Sherlock and John you should probably know." And so he began to tell her everything. About Moriarty, about his brother's faked death, about Magnussen and about his enforced holiday. The words came easy and she listened with uninterrupted interest as he poured out everthing he had held inside. When he was finished, he let himself fall back into the plastic covering of the bench he was sitting in. He felt exhausted but not in a bad way. He felt like he had acomplished a task that had been put off for too long.

"Tell me about you then."

She shrugged. "What is there I could tell you about myself you wouldn't already know?" 

It was the first time he managed to look into her eyes without feeling trapped.

"Why don't you tell me anyway so I can verify my sources." 

So he listened as she talked calmly, her story going in circles growing wider and wider. He tried to read the sentiments behind the utterances to find out how she felt about things. He catalogued the sound of her voice, the high sounds that revealed excitement and opposition, the low ones that meant insecurity and sadness. He filed away the movements in her face, the twitch of her mouth when statements were to be understood as sarcastic, the way her eyes moved to announce a smile. It was long beyond midnight when the flood of their conversation ceased to a drizzle of remarks that where understood before entirely uttered. 

"Would you like me to take you back?" He sensed her uneasiness about returning to Baker Street.

"You could always stay in my spare room until the situation is back under control a little more. As far as control goes with Sherlock and John."

 

He once more noticed how much smaller she was than himself when they stood at the street, under his umbrella. He felt like he wanted to stop every single raindrop that hit her, she was slightly shivering with cold. Her hair had began to curl in the damp. In the streetlight its colour had changed to something like copper. She stood out to him from the background of passing people, everything only there to provide background for this scene. Her, standing next to him, under his umbrella.

"So you show me then!" she demanded. He smiled surprised at the intensity of the request and lifted his arm. A taxi stopped almost immediatly. 

"You're cheating and I will find out how."

He giggled. "Well, you can try after all."

 

He made sure he busied himself long enough so she would have had enough time to use his upper bathroom and get changed into one of his pyjamas before he left the kitchen. He had found the tumble dryer to put her clothes in, but for his life he didn't manage to start it. "Well at least I know where it is!" he answered to the triumphant Sherlock in his head.

"I think you have to turn that switch." she sounded apologetically, he hadn't heard her coming in. His current lack of observatory skills was starting to worry him. He blushed at the thought that she heard him talk to himself.

"So, good night. Or good morning, since I had quite a good night already."

"Yah, nahm well I guess so did I."

"Well, and I guess I see you in the morning." she blushed and turned to leave. 

 


	6. Making a Fool of Oneself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Mycroft finds a good way to spend his day off after all.

The sun was already coming up when he finally made the decision to go to bed. He was afraid of where sleep might take him once he lost control over his mind. He wasn't prepared to open yet another dusted door of his mind palace. So when he finally gave himself over to sleep, his mind was very much concentrated on filing away the events of the evening. It was that moment in particular when they had nearly touched, that played and replayed in his mind. However, without losing its emotional appeal. He would make a fool of himself trying to pretend any longer that he wasn't holding any feelings for her. And he hated both ideas: making a fool of himself, and holding feelings he had not decided to hold. But that was how it was and there was no changing it at the moment.

 

To his own surprise he woke some hours later, without any unsettling visits to his mind palace. But as soon as he was awake fully, that feeling of relief was replaced by the worry of how to spend that day ahead of him. He couldn't escape to work, he would have to figure out a way for him and her to spend the day. And then he remembered the advice his supervisor had given him. He picked himself up from the bed very slowly and put on the shirt he had worn last night. He listened into the stairway for sounds that would tell him if she was already up. But the house was as silent as ever. With a look towards the large clock in the hall he decided it was not yet too late for breakfast. With three large jumps he had made it down the stairs. With another five steps he stood in the middle of the kitchen. As he began to prepare tea and toast, he thought about the day ahead. The sun had made it through the clouds and it promised to become another rather warm day. 

"Mr Holmes, I believed you to be out already. If I had known..." his housekeeper took marmelade out of the cupboard and began to set the table. 

"No,no everything is fine, I'd rather enjoy making breakfast myself this morning."

She looked at him with a slightly worried look. "Will you not be going to the office today?"

"No, I actually intend on driving down to Brighton today." He took a bite from an apple to hide a smile he was surprised by himself.

"So will you be returning tonight?" 

"I haven't really thought about that yet." This wasn't at all like him. But then everything that had happened to him lately was nothing like him.

 

"Brighton? I have never been to Brighton."

"Which is no obstacle for going there now. But of course I understand if you'd rather stay working with your brother."

"No that is not at all what I meant. Though I probably should tell him where I am going, just in case." She picked up her mobile from their breakfast table and looked at him while waiting for Jonah to pick up the phone. Their conversation went on for quite a while, jumping back and forth between topics. He began clearing the dishes away. He was quite eager to keep his housekeeper out of the room, she was already all too much interested in the exact nature and cause of Emily's stay here.

 

I was forced to take some time off from work and have decided to spend the day in Brighton. I will be back some time tonight. MH

 

_You_  will be back? Are you planning on deserting her there or push her off some boat?" SH

 

Mycroft sighed. He had hoped his brother would have the courtesy to just ignore the implied information. He should have known better, really.

 

Stop jumping to conclusions. You drove her out of the flat, I'm just taking the job on me to keep her entertained. Are you and John okay? MH

 

Of course you are. And of course we are. Off you go and run your goldfish. SH

 

She is not a goldfish! MH

 

But she is yours? SH

 

 

He felt glorious with the wind hitting his face, leaving a layer of salt on his skin. They walked down the promenade and deduced people walking by. It had turned out Emily had quite a talent for it as well and got better with every try.

He pointed his ice cream cone towards a family sitting in front of a restaurant. "What about them then?" 

"I'll give that marriage another three months. The stay here is a last, desperate attempt. He already has found someone new, judging from the way he checks his phone for messages."

They had reached a wooden stair leading down to the beach. Emily sat down and took of her shoes. She rolled up her trousers over her ankles and looked at him. 

"Don't tell me you planned on going to the beach without taking your shoes off?"

It was the touch of moist sand on his bare feet that brought back the memory. He had been here some ten years before. He had picked Sherlock up from the clinic to spare their mother the pain, the worry slowly grinding her down. They had spent a week here, Sherlock pacing up and down the beach for hours whenever the urge for cocaine became unbearable. A deckchair at the beach seemed the only place where his brother could find sleep back then. He had sat there, silently through all of it and watched over him, as he had sworn to himself to do forever from then on. 

He gasped when the ice cold water hit him at his hips. Emily had begun to kick up water with her feet standing in the spray and breakwater to her ankles.

"Don't you dare mess with me, young lady!"

"Or else? Will you have me shot, Mr Holmes?" She crossed her arms and gave the water another kick.

"Right, you've just been asking for this." He started up towards her. She shrieked as he pulled her towards him, firmly placing his arm around her waist. He turned so her feet lost contact with the ground and he pretended to drag her deeper into the water. She was coiling up and laughing loudly.

"I'm sorry, won't do it again, I promise." She giggled.

"I trust you." It sounded so much more serious than he had intended it.

"And I would never betray your trust." Her fingers curled firmly into his arm around her waist. He suddenly felt like crying. He wanted to put his head in her lap and cry till there was nothing left in him. Instead he loosened his grip and slowly made his way back to the beach, her following close by.

 

They had put of their trip back to the very last minute, sharing fish and chips and two more portions of ice cream. By the time they made their way back to his waiting car, the sun was setting. A comfortable silence had grown between them, simply because there was nothing more to say. They hadn't been driving for long when Emily's eyes began to close and she fell asleep leaning against the window. He was convinced he could feel heat radiating from her as her breathing began to slow and even itself. She had tanned during the day and he couldn't stop thinking that she might have stored some of that summer warmth in her skin. Surely, her hair would smell of sea and fish and wood warmed by the sun if one got close enough to smell it. He yearned the smell, he so very much yearned the warmth. Slowly he closed the space between them and holding her by her shoulders, leaned her head against his arm. He kept the touch light, he was terrified he could wake her and end this. He had been right. Her blond, dishevelled hair smelled of salt and sea and underneath it all, of her.

 


	7. Sherlock Isn't in Love Either

His brother slouched on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Emily had called him to come over before she had left for what they had become to call her brother's lab.

"When did he leave?" 

"Last night. Mary called, she needed help with the furniture for the baby's room." 

"Starving yourself will not change anything however." He gently sat down in John's chair.

Sherlock didn't answer for a long time. "I'm not in love with him, Mycroft." 

"Never said you were."

"I just miss his company. I miss having him round."

"I would say that falls well into the definition of being in love."

"And one day in Brighton turned you into an expert on these matters?"

Sherlock covered his face with his hands. From the movement of his chest, Mycroft believed him to be crying. He went up to him, knelt down and placed his hands in his brother's curls. A strangled sob escaped from underneath the hands.

"Does he even know?"

"He's very good at ignoring what is obvious."

"Do you think she knows?"

Sherlock shrugged. "She tried to kill me. What do you think the message is there?"

Mycroft began to draw circles on his scalp.

"It just interferes with my thinking and I really can't afford that. Jonah has decoded the virus, he is quite positive he will know where it came from by tomorrow. I will go and find whatever there is to find." With that Sherlock jumped up in one quick movement and rubbed his face with his sleeve.

"I don't think you are in any state to go undercover so quickly again. Besides he will notice immediately that you have left the town. You will have to keep up the appearance to keep this all together. To keep us all save. There are way too many people attached to this by now." He had followed him to his bedroom, Sherlock had begun to get changed. Mycroft felt uneasy pangs of guilt at the sight of the scar just too close to his heart.

"So what do you suggest? Shall I return to the couch and wait for John to drop by again? Shall I find myself a girlfriend again so Moriarty thinks I'm distracted?"

"Go back to working with Lestrade. Solve some petty thefts or something. It will take your mind of things and not cause any fuss."

"You said something about food." Shelock shambled past him to the kitchen.

 

He could convince him to finish an entire portion of stir fry by amusing him with gossip from the office.  

"So what do you talk about with her? Do you compete over who has the more irritating sibling to look after? And more importantly, are you about to win?"

"No, we don't, but if we did, you can rest assured that I would win by miles."

"Don't get me wrong, you've got my blessing." He waved his hand through the air and let himself fall back onto the floor where he had been sitting.

"Sherlock, it's not like that. I don't even know if she..."

"That's preposterous Mycroft. When you dropped her off here the other night after your little outing she was literally shaking all over. I assumed you had at least had the decency to kiss her."

"Turns out I didn't."

"Poor mummy. She will never have those grandchildren."

"You're one to talk on these matters, Sherli." He said it gently not to brush up any hurtful feelings once more. He dropped the subject by complaining over the general state of the flat and making Sherlock call Lestrade who was actually very happy to hear from him and promised to pick him up later that evening to go over some unsolved cases that had piled up over the last couple of weeks.

When the door closed behind the inspector and the detective later that night, Mycroft felt relieved. He collected his belongings from around the flat, his jacket, the umbrella and checked the fridge towards its content of groceries. He found the ratio of those to experiments just about satisfying and left the flat.

 


	8. A Ship on Thames at Night

"And you are quite sure about this?" He looked at Jonah who had just finished explaining his findings to him. 

"Yes. I ran the test three times and it all comes down to the same results. The source must be somewhere in the States. It doesn't mean the author has to be there as well but that is where the virus entered the system for the first time. To be more precise somewhere in the desert of Utah." He handed him a photograph that showed some buildings surrounded by sand and little else.

"Thank you, you have been of the utmost help to us." He got up from his chair to shake Jonah's hand. 

"Brian informed me that he would like you and the others to come together for a little celebration of this success tonight."

"I don't really do parties." Jonah smiled knowing Mycroft would understand.

"Neither do I but I find it helps to keep people happy to work with one."

"Does that mean you would like me to prolong my stay here?"

"I didn't dare to ask, but since you are asking, we would be very happy to have you along as long as you can postpone your business in Zurich."

"And I would be delighted to accept."

 

The pub was already very overcrowded when John entered. You could tell who was part of the celebration easily, they all wore the inofficial office uniform of shirt and black trousers or three piece like Mycroft. He glanced around to find someone he actually knew. Finally he spotted Greg at the bar and made his way over to him. 

"Thank god you're here. I began questioning my own sanity being alone with them." He waved into the direction of a table in the far corner of the pub. It was Sherlock, Mycroft and Emily. The young man he assumed was the famous Jonah. 

"You begin to sound like Donovan." John warned him.

"I know but four of them is just too much for me."

"So the other two..."

"Are just as bad, yes. I wouldn't be surprised if it ever came out they were related."

"Come on let's face them together. I'll watch your back." Greg picked up his beer and let John stir him towards the table in question. Sherlock smiled at him, but quickly resumed his lively discussion with Jonah about the newest model of nightview cameras. Mycroft and Emily moved to make space for the two new arrivals. The older Holmes looked changed. He didn't wear the full office gear any more and John could have sworn that he had lost weight. And he seemed very anxious not to sit too close to that Emily whose hands nervously peeled the lable from her bottle of coke. 

"Thank you for stepping in the other day." Mycroft leaned over as he spoke to Greg who nodded at him adding:" Always my pleasure." 

"I gave Sherlock something to distract himself, the whole Moriarty thing seems to wear him out quite a bit. Any chance that you will be coming along any time soon again?"

"I'd love too." John felt like a liar as he uttered the sentence. 

 

As the evening dragged on, their little party was frequently broken up by people coming over to congratulate Jonah on his success or talking to Mycroft. The older Holmes seemed very much at ease, more relaxed than John had ever seen him. When he left with some of his minions for a cigarette, John placed himself next to Sherlock.

"Whatever happened to the iceman?" Sherlock snorted upon hearing him call his brother by his nickname.

"Even you should be able to deduce that, John." With his eyes he pointed him towards the open door where Mycroft stood seemingly listening to the chatter of his fellow smokers but his eyes were firmly fixed on Emily who was laughing loudly at one of Greg's jokes.

"Really? I never thought he..."

"No, he is so awfully well behaved and considerate towards everyone, so nothing will ever be happening." Sherlock mocked his brother's posh accent. John smiled at him. 

"Get him drunk. It would only be for his own good."

"My brother has never been drunk once in his life. You would probably have to hit him hard on the head and pour it down his throat."

John pondered the idea in his head for some time, he still held suspicions towards Mycroft and wouldn't believe him to hold feelings for anyone until he saw it with his own eyes.

 

Mycroft stood once more in his closet and tried to decide what to wear. Something that happened way too often lately. He finally grabbed some shirt and decided against a vest. Nervously, his fingers ran through his hair.

"Your car is here, Mr Holmes." 

"Thank you I shall be down in a minute." He was always nervous about meetings with a lot of people especially when they were of private nature.

The lights flashing by the car's window reminded him once more of that strange dream that kept returning to him. He was sitting somewhere and watched stars falling out of a very black sky. He was showered with stars, white points of light that made his heart race and left him with an uncertain feeling that everything would have to change. The recurrence of the same dream unsettled him because he felt once more out of control of his own mind. However, it seemed as if he had regained control over most parts of his mind palace again. Once he would have found his way back to that certain hallway and once he would be able to enter and leave it at his own command, he was sure the dream would stop as well.

When he entered the pub, he tried not to look for Emily. They had met, after that trip to Brighton, mostly over work and he dreaded it could turn out akward to return to more private matters in front of such an audience. He was happy to be involved into conversations by his staff, as this was well treaded terrain. When he finally made it all the way to the back of the room, he found his brother and Jonah sitting at a table with Emily and Greg Lestrade. They readily made space for him between them. Jonah graciously accepted the compliments offered by those that knew about the case and his role in it. Even Sherlock seemed at ease. When he saw John arrive, he looked for an opportunity to get away. He would be left with picking up the pieces of his brother soon enough, he didn't want to watch him crumble as well. So he happily accepted when asked to join Harry for a cigarette outside. 

Someone had turned up the music and people began to dance. He watched Emily who seemed to laugh at one of Greg's jokes. Suddenly their eyes met. He couldn't help but blush. She kept up the gaze and raised her eyesbrows. He shook his head and formed the words "No good at it". He pointed towards Sherlock. She smiled, slightly threw her head back and turned her attention back to the conversation at the table. 

He had just finished another cigarette, smoking it simply to avoid having to go back to the crowded room, when she turned up next to him. 

"Your brother sends me to tell you that those will kill you."

"So is he now too lazy to get up and scold me himself?" He extinguished the cigarette nevertheless. She leaned herself next to him against the wall disjoining the pub's backyard from the street. The wind kept blowing the music from the pub over to them.

"I was hoping for a chance to talk to you in private." he finally broke the silence. She looked at him expectantly. 

"Your brother has agreed to stay some time longer to help. I have no idea what your plans are for the next months and of course I would understand if you would like to go back and start working again..." he began to stutter.

"I have been thinking about staying myself. It turns out I rather like it here. However, I would need to find a job. I have applied for a part-time Masters in Cambridge some time ago."

" I know." He smiled apologetically as she rolled her eyes.

He took a deep breath to start again. "Now listen. Anthea is going on maternity leave next month and I was thinking, maybe you would like to take over. I'm not offering this only because we are friends or because of your brother, but you have proven to be quite capable those last days." She had indeed taken over some of the minor paper work from him and begun to write some of the reports.

"So you consider us to be friends?" He looked at her puzzled.

"Well yes... I'm sorry if I misjudged... I didn't mean to..." he felt like a stone he had swallowed hit his stomach.

"Most people in there claim you don't do friends." She nodded towards the door but kept looking straight into his face with an expression of wonder.

"There is always an exception to the rule." It almost sounded pleadingly.

"I'd love to." she muttered.

"That's good." He let out a breath.

"So what should I tell people when they ask me what I work?"

"Minor position in the British government usually does the trick." He couldn't help but snort when he caught her puzzled look.

 

Most guests had left by the time they made their way back inside. 

"Seems like we missed the party" He picked up a note from the table where they had been sitting.

"Greg took us all home. See you around. SH"

She put on her coat. "Care to walk? I could do with some exercise." 

He nodded.

It was one of those rare moments when time seems to stop and the world holds its breath for a moment just to watch. For Mycroft the city's lights once more turned into stars as he walked next to her simply at ease with the world and his own existence. He felt like he could sense eternity when the light reflected from the pavements, hit her face and played in her eyes. People went by, unnoticed. There was nothing out there of any importance but the two of them taking a walk around London at night. The houses, the streets, the sounds of the night, they all only existed to provide a background for her to be silhouetted against, for her to sparkle and set his world on fire. Walking over Tower Bridge he had to stop. The realisation that all this was real, took any breath out of him. He leaned against the parapet and looked down at the river. A ribbon of black velvet, little lights dancing to the tune of the night. Somewhere people were laughing, somewhere brakes were shrieking, the glorious, constant buzzing and breathing of the city. But Mycroft heard nothing but some wonderful melody that seemed to stream from everything around him. A ship began to appear underneath them. It was decorated with fairy lights and a band played on board for what seemed to be a wedding party.

" I think I still owe you a dance." he offered his hand to Emily. She put her hand in his.

"Here? Of all places?"

He ignored her comment and drew her near. For the life in him, he could not take his eyes of hers, he was sucked into them and it took all of his will to command his legs to move. They danced until the music had almost ceased with the boat. If there ever was a moment to kiss, this was it and so he cupped the back of her head with both hands, leaned down and kissed her. She drew her arms around his waist and kissed back. It wasn't hurried, it wasn't tentative, it was just a promise made on top of Tower Bridge. His hands shook when he finally broke the kiss and rested his forehead on hers."I trust you." He whispered into her face. "I do, I do, I do."

"Oi, get a room!" They suddenly noticed that they had been blocking the pavement. A group of babbling, laughing and scuffling teenagers pushed past them. Mycroft watched them dissappear as he held Emily close by the collar of her summer coat smiling like a lunatic.

 

"I have a confession to make." He faced the door saying it, turning the key with some effort due to his nervous hands.

"You're married." she answered in a matter of fact tone.

"What? Goodness, no!" The door finally gave in.

"What would make you think that?" He turned to face her as they entered his hall. She pointed at the ring finger of her right hand to indicate she had seen the ring Mycroft was wearing.

"Oh, yes, right, that is a key of sorts if you want." He turned it on his finger to reveal its signet.

"And your confession?"

"Back in the library... I just don't want you to think that I knew who you are. I asked for the book simply because I was interested. Not in the book...in that as well of course, but only in relation to you, that is."

"Okay. I believe you because I trust you." she sounded nonchalantly. Her fingers ran along the edge of the dark brown table in his hall as she watched him hanging his jacket and turning on the lights in the living room.

"Can you play?" She looked at the piano expectantly. 

He nodded and opened the lid covering the keys. She placed herself behind him on the little bench, leaning her face against his back as he played. He felt her lips against his muscles as he moved. When he stopped she took his hand and kissed each of his finger tips. 

He placed his other hand around her waist and curled his face into her neck to kiss it.

"Mycroft?"

"hm?"

"When you go silent suddenly, you get a very strange look on your face." she sighed and he sensed the question that was coming.

"Is it the same Sherlock does? I mean do you have such a mind palace as well?"

He straightened himself up and looked at the piano, pretending to collect the note sheets.

"Yes. Though I would never have given it such a pretentious name, that's Sherlock for you. It's simply a way of organising thoughts and knowledge. I can show you how to do it, I taught Sherlock after all. Does it scare you?"

She pressed her face into his back again as she spoke: "Not really. I think my brother does the same. When he was a child, it scared me quite a bit when I was alone with him. I was never sure if I had done something wrong or if he was ill."

He didn't move, afraid to scare her away. "So you spent a lot of time alone with your brother when you were younger?"

"Yep. Single mother, not at all up to the job to deal with a child like that." He could feel her moving away as to signal that the topic was closed at this point.

"Sherlock said you took care of him quite a bit as a child as well."

"Well, we went to the same boarding school. I tried to keep him out of trouble and failed miserably at it. I think he still holds me responsible for quite a lot of those things that went wrong in his life."

"Or maybe he just holds a grudge at you for being the smarter one." She smiled at him.

 

She had made her way over to the couch that was facing those big windows looking out into the garden. She kicked of her shoes and lay herself down. He watched her, still awed by her existence and actual presence in his living room. He followed her and sitting on the floor before the sofa, placed his head on her chest to listen to her heart beat.


	9. Dykes Protecting Sanity

Greg regretted his offer to take them all home in his car the moment he overheard the conversation unfold between Jonah and Sherlock. Too much information, just so much unwanted information. Jonah seemed to hold a particular interest in the effects of explosives on various parts of the human body and Sherlock was more than willing to satisfy his curiosity.

"I can actually show you, those patterns in blood stains are very characteristic. I think I still have some leftover firecrackers and the hand of that traffic accident victim. I don't think your sister would mind you to stay over in her room, do you suppose?"

"Don't think so, no. I'll just send her a text to let her know she better finds herself another place to sleep tonight." They both giggled like children.

"Would give me the chance to look into your laptop problem in more depth as well. I'm quite positive I could find a way around the firewall of that..." he stopped himself giving Greg a glance.

Greg pretended he had not heard. Whatever those two were up to, he did not want to know. It could result in way too much paperwork. He studied John's face in the mirror. It was an epitome of pain and anger. His eyes were firmly fixed on the street outside. When he turned up in front of Baker Street, John did not move to look at the two getting out of the car.

"Good night John. Give my love to Mary." Sherlock sounded like a little child, asking for forgiveness.

"Good night Sherlock." It sounded like his voice had frozen over.

Baker Street had long vanished out of view when John almost exploded next to him.

"How old is that little git after all? Twenty? And he claims to be a professor? Can't believe Sherlock is falling for his pretentious attitude. He will get him in trouble, he will get all of them in trouble. Bloody..."

Greg waited for the stream of curses to cease before he spoke. "Sherlock has been quite lost without you around. Do you really blame him for finding himself new company? Besides I do remember you saying the other night that you hoped he would get on well with Jonah, that it might change his mood for the better. And matter of fact it has."

John's shoulders which had twitched with tension just seconds ago, began to slouch. The anger dissolved into something Greg could not identify completely.

"Don't tell me you really believed your marriage wouldn't change anything between you and him." he added in a voice he usually used to soothe his little daughter after bad dreams.

"So married men are not able to keep friends any more, hm? Is that what you are trying to tell me?"

Greg sighed and watched another wave of anger and jealousy wash over John.

"After all it wasn't my decision to leave. It was him who left by throwing himself of a bloody roof!" John slammed the door of the car and Greg watched him disappear into the house.

 

 

He didn't move though his back began to hurt. Emily had long fallen asleep.He couldn't go to sleep. His mind was running over all the possibilities of where to go from here, using the information Jonah had given him. Under no circumstances would he allow Sherlock to do the groundwork again. Which left him with two basic options. He could always get one of his agents out there. This would however demand quite some work to provide any of them with all the background knowledge Sherlock and he had acquired those couple of years, sometimes in ways even "the office" did not approve of. And most of the agents fell well into his goldfish category. They were not up to facing a villain this calibre. Which left him with himself. He closed his eyes imagining having to break his decision to Emily, and most of all leaving her and Sherlock behind for an extended period of time. He probably could prolong his departure another week until he had made sure Emily knew her way around the office. With Anthea giving her a hand the first couple of weeks, he hoped she would be fine. He refused to leave anyone else in charge of his work and those people the closest to him, after all it was her he trusted. As she moved on the couch behind him, her hand found her way into his hair. She stirred and began to run her fingers through his hair.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Work."

"That's not the whole story." she stated. Her back curled as she stretched and yawned.

"Nothing we need to talk about tonight." He rubbed his head against her hoping she would continue to pet his hair.

"You will be going away, don't you?" He sighed. Not a goldfish, not at all.

"When?"

"That's what I was thinking about."

"Mycroft, don't you dare just leave without telling me about it for some weird reason. Because you believe it to be the best for me or something."

"Seems like I already can't hide anything from you." He looked at her pretending to be annoyed. She kissed his forehead gently then she whispered, placing her mouth close to his ear:"I think I will miss you dearly."

The words flooded his stomach with warmth which rapidly extended through his whole body. He stared at her with awe. "That's...nice."

He regretted the moment the words left his tongue. They hung in the air like soap bubbles only they were bursting with excessive noise. She looked at him with raised eyebrows and he covered his face with both hands, letting himself slide all the way to the floor. He had just decided to stop his heart by pure will power and to die of embarrassment and shame right here when her giggle called him back. It slowly built into a hearty laugh interrupted by snorts. He couldn't help but join in. The laughing rumbled though his whole body, shaking it, flooding it, taking over. He felt it build up inside, like waves that slowly grew dangerously high, threatening to spill over any dyke protecting his sanity. He could almost feel the moist of these waves running down his fingers and face.It took him half a second to realize they were tears. He gasped with surprise, mingling the laugh and audible breath into a sob. The tides of tears ran through his body, shaking him until everything about him was trembling. He felt himself being picked up by his shoulders gently and he followed the hands directing him. He kept his eyes closed to bury as many tears as possible inside, flung his arms around her as if he was holding on for dear life, pressing his face to her chest once more.

"I have no idea..." another wave of sobs washed over him, drawing him down.

"I know." her hands fisted in his shirt as if to de-spin him. She leaned down and placed her cheek on his wet temple.

They could have been sitting there for hours or seconds, he couldn't tell when the crying finally began to ebb.


	10. Coming Home and Leaving

Mrs. Hudson was not just a little surprised to hear noises yet again in her house that had been the usual back when John had still shared the flat upstairs. She only noticed the change now that it was about to be undone again. The sound of Sherlock walking through the flat, the whistle of a kettle late at night and the occasional laughter of his low voice, now mingled with that of another, younger man. The young man had turned up out of the blue. Sherlock had introduced him upon their meeting on the stairway but without taking the time to go in any detail about the nature of their acquaintance. And the young man had only smiled at her politely, following Sherlock who had retrieved a human hand from the icebox at the bottom of the stairs. She turned back towards the TV smiling oddly relieved at hearing fire crackers explode in the flat above. She loved them both, her John and Sherlock and seeing Sherlock so melancholic and lost had made her worry quite a bit. She had taken the conversation with the older Holmes boy very serious and monitored Sherlock's behaviour carefully for the "revival of old habits" as the elegant man had put it. She kept his phone number next to that of the emergency centre for poisoning in a little notebook by the phone. The door to her kitchen opened behind her and she heard someone rummaging through one of her drawers.

"What are you looking for, love?" A clatter followed by a surpressed curse before she received a reply.

"I need a kitchen knife, a rather long one. Think I found it." The doors closed again and Sherlock returned to the flat, taking two steps at a time. Maybe everything would turn out fine after all.

 

"If you press that button from now on, it will start a secure connection that takes you directly into the Yard's digital archive of files. Not strictly legal, but your brother should be able to get you a permission a posteriory, if you ever should be found out."

Sherlock could tell that Jonah was pleased with his work and tried to value the favour by immediately trying the new toy. "Very helpful indeed. Thank you."

"My pleasure." Jonah yawned. "Do you mind if I go to bed, those meetings with people just tire me out."

 Sherlock nodded, already lost in the endless supply of cases filed under "closed unsolved" on Greg's computer at his office. He tried to force his full concentration on reading through one of them in order to surpress the sad feelings surfacing upon hearing someone else moving around the flat that was not John. Under no circumstances would he be going to sleep tonight. The idea of the moment when sleep would take control over his mind away from him and take him to painful memories turned his stomach even more than usually. His mind palace was no longer a save place. John lurked in every corner of it, even walking next to him as he wandered through its corridors. He wasn't in love with John in the conventional way, he didn't envy Mary the physical side of their relationship. But maybe in a platonic way, he was in love with him after all. He wondered where people would draw the line between friendship and love, if the physical side of things was of no importance to the parties involved. But then it seemed to be of the utmost importance to them judging on the high frequency of the topic in discussion between people and all the work they put into receiving it. After all, Mary was right. He knew nothing about human nature and right now he was glad about that. He could only begin to imagine what the pain would be like if he had indeed allowed himself the weakness of what Mycroft called caring. But then his brother was about to break each and every of his own rules by caring about Emily. He wondered if Mycroft still thought about Irene sometimes. She had brought him himself very close to giving into the temptation of allowing feelings to get the better of him. His brother and he had never talked about the unfinished business between the two of them or Sherlock's almost feelings for the female problem, as she was referred to between them. Browsing through the files he stumbled over a case from two years ago that promised to be at least a five. He decided to ask Greg about it tomorrow.

 

"So what is that matter of utmost importance that made you invite me to your house, Myc?" Anthea was mocking his way of speaking as she stood in his kitchen. She hadn't seen him so agitated in a long time. Not since bis secretary had turned out to be a sniper aimed at him about a year ago, to be precise.

"Well I've been thinking and I decided to go to Utah myself. Which brings up the problem of who is to be left in charge of things while I'm away." He let boiling water run into a teapot and placed three cups on a tray.

"Well, I'm willing to stay to the last minute Myc, but once the baby is here, you will have to find someone else. I know you don't like to let others interfere with your work but..."

"You didn't let me finish." He poured some milk in one of the cups."I found someone. I think she is very capable, she knows most of the details on the affair and I believe her to be quite capable of taking over your job."

"Now you've got me hooked."

"Follow me!" He said it with the broadest smile. He picked up the tray and took her to his study.

They spent the day going over procedures and planning his mission. It got him into a pleasant flow he had missed lately when working. He noticed that Anthea and Emily needed less and less words to communicate efficiently. It almost looked like they danced around each other as they swirled through the study. 

"Right! I think that's all we can do at the moment. Now we just wait for things to unfold and you will be on your way by the end of the week." Anthea closed her laptop and looked back and forth between the two. Mycroft had his professional mask well in place, Emily was very busy looking busy. "Emily, we will meet each other at the airport once he leaves. I will send some things over here for you to look at until then." Emily smiled at her shyly and nodding in agreement. 

Mycroft accompanied her to the door. " You look happy,Myc." she said as he helped her into her coat. "Yes, lucky to have found someone that fits the job description so well."

"You really think me thick, don't you?"

"No, but I'd rather not be forced to admit anything I haven't admitted to myself yet." This was probably the most honest and private statement she had ever heard him utter in those long years they had been working together.

 

Mycroft had joined her for another dinner at Baker Street. She had promised to cook for her brother and Sherlock and so he just followed along.

The mood sure had changed for the better, he sensed it the moment he entered. Sherlock was stapled on the couch, obviously lost somewhere in his mind palace. But there was no tension about him as had been the case so often lately. Mycroft walked over, looking his younger brother over whose closed eyes flickered behind their lids. "Sherli?" he sounded almost gentle, touching his knee only with the tips of his fingers. The eyes kept flickering for a few more seconds before their movement stabilised and he opened his eyes.

"Not you again! Don't you have someone else's life to play with for a change?" Mycroft obediently rolled his eyes in reply to the insult. Shuffing his brother's feet out of the way, he sat down on the end of the sofa.

"It's all planned by now. You will be relieved of my presence by the end of the week."

The very tiny gap between his statement and Sherlock's insulting reply told him he was by no means indifferent to his departure.

 

As soon as the remains of the meal were cleared away to the kitchen, Sherlock picked up his violin and began to play. He faced the window, though he was most certainly aware of the audience gathering behind him. Jonah placed himself close to the tall man and stared into his laptop listening nevertheless. Emily, already acquainted with his playing, was much more at ease with the scene and occupied Sherlock's chair, hanging her head and feet down both sides of it. Mycroft leaned himself against the kitchen door, pretending to dry the dishes, but really he just observed that scene of domesticity drinking it in and filing it very carefully away. He hadn't been aware how much it calmed him to see those close to him at ease and content. He felt a strange warmth building in his guts again. He had a strange sense of recognition looking at Sherlock and Emily and also Jonah and slowly it dawned on him that it might be he had found himself a family.That final realisation send a wave of shock through his system. For the first time his brother and he were not the odd ones sticking out. For the first time there was no need of explanation, no hiding, no embarrassment for things that made them so very much themselves.

It was his mobile that brought them all back from their thoughts. Sherlock frowned at him and gave him a very nasty look when the ring interrupted his play. He hurried to pick it out of his pocket and ran back to the kitchen to answer it. It was as if the ringing itself had already told Sherlock that his brother would be by no means be leaving by the end of the week, but was going to leave in a couple of hours. The very short remarks his brother gave in response to the man on the other side of the line only veryfied his deduction. He carfully placed his violin back in its case. He really had been enjoying this, finally no longer playing for himself only any more. And now this case was once more going to take all that comfort from him. He'd rather swallow his own tongue than admitting it aloud, but the frequent visits of his brother, the presence of Emily and Jonah, it had brought something back to Baker Street he had believed John had taken with him upon leaving. Emily gave him a short glance still draped over his chair. He wasn't sure what to say, giving comfort was not really his area.

Mycroft had put his professional attitude well back in place when he reentered the living room. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt down again, brushing off crumps and wrinkles that weren't there.

"I will need you to come to the airport with me. There are some things I still need you to look at before I leave. I had planned that for tomorrow, but as it seems events have caught up with us. My source communicated that there has been staff leaving or is being replaced. He was able to have me hired. That could be our one chance to get in." He handed her the coat from the hanger. Emily slowly got up and put on her shoes. Jonah passed her on her way to the door and placed his hand on her shoulder in a quick movement.

"I'll be waiting up. Just call." she nodded, her face blank of any feeling.

 

His nerves were strained to the limit. There was nothing he hated more than being rushed or forced to react by onforeseen events. And as he threw his bag in the back of the car waiting, just such an event casually strolled down the street towards him. "Oh, no, not tonight! Off all nights not tonight John!" he muttered to himself. He tried to pretend he hadn't seen the doctor and more so had not noticed he was upset.

"Oh, Mycroft! Good evening!" Mycroft looked up and gave him his best attempt of a smile.

"Doctor Watson! what brings you to this part of town?" As if he wouldn't know. The row with Mary couldn't have been less than an hour ago, his body was still very tense, the military posture covering the inner turmoil pretty well to most observers. John cleared his throat.

"Sherlock texted that he has started working with Greg again and offered for me to join, so I thought I just come by and find out about the details."

Mycroft didn't answer, he just looked at him with slightly raised eyebrows. He wasn't in the mood of making John aware of the fact that lying to him was of no use. John became uncomfortable with the silence again.

"And you are...." He waved his hands at the car and the travelling bag in its back so very much not Mycroft's usual style.

"I will be working abroad for some time. I'm sure Sherlock will be happy to fill you in on details." His eyes wandered towards the door of Baker Street as he heard it open. John turned as well, his face expression looking slightly confused when he saw Emily walking towards the car, a pile of papers in hand.

Mycroft read his thoughts:" She has been taking over Anthea's position." 

"Right, so you are working together now."

"I assumed that was the message of my last utterance, yes." Mycroft held the car's door open for Emily who smiled at John coyly and crawled rather clumsly into the back seat. "John, I think I will be gone for some time. There is something I would like to ask of you." He didn't wait for John to reply. "I know you chose to ignore it, but Sherlock gets himself into quite a state every time you leave after a prolonged stay with him. This is not supposed to be an accusation." he added to calm the resistance already building in the doctor's face. "I just ask you to keep that in mind as I won't be able to pick up the pieces of him for the time of ...my business trip."He sat himself down on the back seat once more looking up at John standing there on the pavement like a student who had just been scolded by the head teacher. "I really worry about him. I hope you understand and act accordingly." with that he closed the door. 

"I know you are under pressure, but that was rather intimidating and mean." Emily gave him a stern look.

"Someone had to tell him eventually. I'm fed up with this tragedy."

"You can't protect him forever." she spoke quietly.

He looked at her and tried to swallow some feelings clodding up in his throat. "I know."


	11. Human Nature

They pulled up in front of a small airport outside of town. There was only one little airplane that was obviously waiting for Mycroft. They hadn't been talking much but Emily had taken his hand somewhere along the drive. He had taken hers to his lips and kissed it.

Two men greeted Mycroft and led them towards something that looked like a gate. Mycroft began to empty the pockets of his suits and placed everything on a small table. One of the men inspected everything and wrote it into a form. Emily felt the feelings she had controlled rather heroically so far build up and water rising in her eyes. She hadn't known him for long, but she had fallen for him head over heals. Watching him leave now when her life had been turned upside down in a matter of days and now that she felt at home for the first time, made it hard to control herself. she stepped closer to the table. 

He handed her a ring of keys. "That's for the house. Feel free to stay there whenever Baker Street becomes too crowded." He winked and smirked. "That gets you into the office, Anthea will get you your own some time this week." She took what looked like a black credit card. "And finally I want you to have this." he pulled at the ring on his finger and placed it in her hand. "I told you, it's a kind of key. It identifies you as...well one of my family basically. If ever you or Sherlock or Jonah are in trouble, that will help in negotiations with the police and hospitals and nuisances of that sort. Which brings me to my final point. There is a sealed envelope sitting on my desk at the study. It contains all the information needed if anything goes wrong and a letter with some more private stuff you should be aware of."

She tried to catch his eyes as he said it, but they were firmly fixed on the table in front of him. One of the men disappeared in a small room behind them and brought back a new set a clothes, a pair of glasses and a new passport. Emily couldn't force herself to speak a feeling of loss held her in firm grip and prevented her from breathing. He unbottoned his shirt and got changed into his new set of clothing. A cheap suit lightly too long at sleeves and legs, a pair of glasses with black plastic frame and a watch with a worn leather band. He would melt into the crowd of office workers easily she assumed.She knew that he had himself hired as a clerk in the administration of what was supposed to look like a software company. That was all he had told her and she had not pressed him for any more information assuming that he had good reasons for not letting her in on details more than he had. After all the Holmes' seemed to do nothing without a very good reason for it, though their understanding of good reasons sometimes stood in stark contrast to other people's idea of that concept.

"So, see you sometime soon I guess." he squirmed looking for more appropiate words to say. "I know I am no good at this. Making senitment known I mean."

She gave him a smile through the weeping that slowly caught hold of her. "Yes, I know, you are actually quite horrible at it but it's fine. I will miss you however."

He closed the gap between them and took her in his arms. Her face was pressed into his chest that smelled no longer anything like him. He placed his cheek on her head for a moment before kissing her cheek and finally her mouth.

"Just leave, you're making it all worse." she was almost unable to keep herself up straight by now, she felt dizzy and some kind of darkness was building in her mind, slowly expanding to all her senses. He let go of her and straightened his jacket and walked through the glass doors towards the airplane without turning around once more. the man who had been sitting at the desk handed her a brown paper box with Mycroft's belongings and she signed the form. the airplane's engines began to roar as it moved away from the building. She waited for its lights to disappear between the clouds of the night sky before turning around towards the waiting black car.

"She's on her way back. "Jonah held up his mobile still sitting in the same place on the sofa. John and Sherlock looked up from a pile of blackmail they were comparing to an array of handwriting samples.

"Anything we can do?" John stretched his back coming up from his crouched position over a magnifying glass. 

"I honestly don't know. I don't think I have any reference for this kind of situation so far. The closest I can get is her last break up, I suppose. That involved the smashing of quite an amount of crockery, a lot of TV and staying in bed, not neccesarily sleeping. "

Sherlock turned towards the kitchen and opened the cupboards, pulling some mugs from it and placing them in one line on the counter.

"What's that for then?" John watched in disbelief.

Sherlock finished his arrangement, neatly aligning all the handles into one direction before answering with confusion showing in his voice."You heard him, she obviously will want to smash something and I don't want her to get hold of any of my experiments."

"Christ Sherlock, I don't think this is how it works." He grabbed the back of his nose with two fingers.

"I know you are the expert in this area, John, but I don't think getting drunk and finding herself a one-night stand will work for her." he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"No, I suppose not. Wait a minute are you implying I got drunk after every break up and picked someone up?"

"No, John, not every time. Out of the seven break-ups I witnessed you did this on five occasions. The other two you were unable to indulge in that habit as we were on a case."

John rolled his eyes.

"No, I think Sherlock is right there, Emily doesn't drink and she is very much opposed to entering relationships on a purely physical level."

Sherlock and Jonah smiled at each other as if paying the other one their respect for having such a deep understanding of human behaviour.

"Bloody hell, you two are impossible. After all she didn't break up with him, he has just gone away."

"Which comes down to the same thing on the chemical level of things. Withdrawal of endorphines produced through tactile and emotional contact. Very similar to drug withdrawal in its consequences by the way."

Sherlock already had repositioned himself over the magnifying glass inspecting the blackmail.

When the door finally opened Jonah and Sherlock froze looking at each other. It was quite a scene and John had to control his face not to laugh at their helpless expressions. Jonah was the first to move. He took her coat and the box she held without a word.

"You are alright?" John felt the need to break the silence in whatever way. She looked at him, the eyes slightly red. 

"Yes, quite." with that she placed herself in Sherlock's chair and began staring at the fireplace. Sherlock went to the kitchen and picked up one of the mugs."

Mug?" he held it out to her. 

"Thank you." She took it from his hands and placed it on the arm of the chair without ending her stare. Sherlock took a step back apparently waiting for the mug to hit the wall behind him. Instead Emily raised it to her lips and holding it there for two seconds. 

"It's empty." she looked at Sherlock confused.

"Jonah didn't tell me it needed to be filled for the purpose."

"Would you like some tea though?" John intervened.

"No, I think I'll pass." With that she went back to staring into the off.

 

"I haven't seen anyone else but you sitting in one place for so long doing nothing." It were the early hours of the morning when John and Sherlock decided to call it a day. Emily hadn't moved, still caught in whatever thought.

"Mycroft did mention she does that now as well. Always assumed it was just him and me who found it comforting and useful. Jonah told me he does it as well, however. Quite intruiging."

"Does what exactly, Sherlock? Drift off?"

"Mind palace. I think someone should tell her to go to bed." With that Sherlock went over to her and gently pressed her arm. She reacted slowly as if waking from a deep sleep and let him lead her to her bedroom door. John couldn't believe his eyes. Sherlock had just told someone to go to bed, had taken interest in the wellbeing of another. Surely strange things were going on at Baker Street.

 

It had been too late, no sense in going home for a couple of hours before turning up again to start on the case anew, so John had spent the night in Sherlock's bedroom, since Mr. Genius insisted on staying up anyway. Jonah had stayed up all night as well, retyping some of his lectures. When John woke up the next morning it took him some time to reconstruct where he was. The room was familiar, yet strange and the smell of tobacco and male cologne took a while to decipher in his head. He stepped outside into the living room just to observe another miracle he hadn't believed possible. Sherlock was in the kitchen preparing toast with butter and marmelade. There was already sitting a huge pile of it on a plate on the table. On a table, that was almost cleared of any experiments and papers. Jonah was there as well, stirring scrambled eggs in a pan. 

"Good morning John! Jonah and I thought you might like some breakfast?"

Jonah and I. The ring of it did not go down well with him. However that would be the closest he could get to an explanation of the things going on. Sherlock was in love. This is why he prepared breakfast, this is why he was in such a good mood, this is why he was so considerate towards other people around. He would never have thought the young man to be Sherlock's type. But then did Sherlock have a type other than criminal masterminds and above average intelligent and also very criminal dominatrixes?

"You hid it well for all those years that you know how to cook." John placed himself in one of the chairs. Jonah began to pile scrambled egg onto his plate from the pan. 

"He claims he learned it on youtube." Emily entered the kitchen already dressed in a neat shirt and black trousers.

"Going?"

"Yes. You?"

"Yes."

"Want a lift?"

"Will be picked up."

"Dinner?"

"My turn."

John was struck by the normality of the conversation between them. It made him lose any interest in the scrambled eggs or the toast. It had taken Sherlock two months to establish something like a strange version of domestic life. Without him. It was as if he had never existed. Life had moved on and left him behind. He couldn't move and watched like a bystander as Emily emptied her tea already fiddling with a mobile phone suspiciously similar to Anthea's and then picking up some papers, ready to leave. He watched Jonah dumping the dishes in the sink and shuffing his computer into a bag. And most of all he watched Sherlock volunteer to take care of dinner while refilling John's cup and placing himself in the usual spot ready to pick up the paper Jonah had brought over from the door. As the door closed behind the siblings, John felt an all too familiar feeling that did not have a name yet, rise in his chest.

"John, all this just kind of happened. It's Mycroft's fault really."

"What do you mean?" He tried very hard to keep his tone neutral. 

Sherlock looked up from the paper. "It's quite obvious you don't like her being here. But then she needed a room and you were staying here only on the odd weekend so it seemed illogical to keep the room void. And then you were right I don't particularly do well being on my own entirely." He turned the page still watching John.

"Can't believe you just admitted to me being right. However, I've got nothing to hold against her." Not her, his mind added to his own surprise. What makes you think I don't like her?"

"You never answer to any of her comments which you frequently do with others, you don't ask her anything which you also usually do sitting in the same room with people."

"No, I think I was just preoccupied with myself really. She seems to do you good. I haven't seen you eat on such a regular basis. After all I got Mary and you got her and... Jonah?" He hadn't intended it to sound like a question it had just sputtered out of his mouth that way.

"I don't have her as you have put it so inadequately. She is Mycroft's... Girlfriend or something." He waved about in the air looking for a proper term to determine his brother's relation with Emily.

"And I most certainly don't have Jonah. It's just work. He turned out to be quite helpful, he understands things."

"So Jonah is work, after all you are married to your work." John couldn't help but think. It produced a bitter aftertaste in his mouth but he didn't speak it. He had no right to feel this way, he should be relieved to see Sherlock this snug and satisfied.

"Stop it! I can hear you think."

"You know I would be fine with it, right? Wouldn't change anything between us if you were...interested in him."

"Yes, I'm very much afraid it wouldn't change anything. Nothing could ever change anything between us." Sherlock muttered it almost to himself as he had turned back to the newspaper.

 

Sherlock prepared himself for the moment John would be leaving again. Sometime before dinner there would be a call, Mary would inquire on whether he would like to stay another day working on the case, John would feel guilty towards them both and would spend another awkward hour with him and then hurry home. He had to take his mind of it, make John's coming and going only background noise to his life, give it a new centre. Until he found himself such a centre, some kind of routine would be the best to keep him from falling apart. So he had taken to cooking. Not that different to chemistry and following instructions from one of Mrs. Hudson's cooking books somehow calmed his nerves. There was a right and there was a wrong and somehow the simplicity of it eased some of the turmoil raging like a tornado in his mind palace. It shattered everything turning the rooms into a mess, the sentiment getting everywhere, covering everything with something like a black dust.

The prospect of having something to do, of cooking and following instructions, of being relieved of doubt for some time gave him the calmness to actually enjoy working with John on the rather simple case of smuggling. They laughed and joked, comments firing back and forth between them.

He drew his coat around himself as he stepped outside the Yard's where he had just handed in their results and insulted Donovan in a rather satisfying way. "Can't believe you said that!" John was bending over because he was laughing so hard it cut off his breathing. Sherlock smiled at the hidden compliment. John's regard for his deductions did never fail to flatter him. It was then that the call arrived. Sherlock shut the noise out and began to recapitulate tonight's recipe.


	12. John, the Client

The weeks went by and Emily was happy to be covered in work to her ears. She had slowly accustomed herself to the flow of days between the office and evenings at Baker Street in the company of Sherlock and her brother. John had been visiting a couple of times and she silently made herself scarce at those occasions either sleeping in the backroom of Mycroft's office or at his house. However, she never felt entirely at ease there on her own. He seemed to be missing there more than any other place she went. After an especially taxing day of obersving negotiations they had been preparing for weeks circle down the drain she found herself enjoying the calm and comfort of the study at his house. Since the day that he had left, she had received notice from him every week. There had been a delivery of chocolate cake, a delivery of shirts her seize from his tailor and other random events no one else would have connected to him sending her a message. One morning she had found a single very beautiful pink tea rose on the steps of Baker Street. That seemed a little risky she thought, but she cherished it nevertheless. This week however, there had be no surprises yet and Emily was beginning to dread the moment she would have to open the envelope still sitting in its place on Mycroft's desk. She eyed it with a mix of fear and interest. It looked like it contained a good dozen of pages and was neatly sealed with a red stain of lack in which he had pressed the back of his signet ring. It was the sign of the Holmes family. She hadn't been able to resist the temptation of looking it up. They seemed to own an estate in Cornwall which was inabited by some elderly relative however.

Her mobile buzzed in her pocket and she hesitated to pick it up for a moment.

 

Just to let you know, John is here. wants me to restore some data stick that seems to have got burned. Need your permission to use the facilities I guess. JP

 

Go ahead. Not sure I'm entitled to handing out such a permission though. EP

 

You have no idea what you are entitled to with that little black card of yours. SH

 

She had a faint idea of what the card did when used in the right surroundings. She remembered going for a meal with a colleague she had met in the hallway. When they were refused a table at a very crowded place close to the office, he had picked it from his wallet as if by accident and they had been brought to another room completely populated only faces distantly familiar. It scared and ever since she had been wondering how she should ever explain to her mother what exactly she was working without scaring her to the bone.

 

By the way, I think John will be staying. Just saying... JP

 

She sighed. She didn't feel like watching the three bickering over some case at dinner. She felt exhausted. Maybe she could just ask the housekeeper if she would be able to fetch her some dinner and stay here. Somehow she felt like a burglar going around the house on her own. Nevertheless she made her way to the ground floor to find Mrs. Potter. The first time she had come around after Mycroft's departure, the old lady had eyed her with suspicion but seemed calmed once Emiliy had entered into some small talk about Mycroft with her. It made her now enter the kitchen with care, she wouldn't want to appear impolite in any way. 

"Mrs. Potter, I'm afraid business demands me to stay here for the night. I hope that doesn't cause you any inconvenience."

"Oh, no not at all. After all there is no point of me always watching an empty house, is there? I assume you would like to dine at some point?"

"That would be awfully nice. Thank you."

"I will bring it up my dear."

She was relieved that she would be able to eat at the study. The house was so awfully huge when he wasn't there. The room was covered in bookshelves to the ceiling. His desk was placed in the exact middle of the slightly oval room and evapourated a feeling a strange feeling of stability. In all those weeks she had never dared herself to look more closely at the books piled up on those shelves.she wasn't sure what she ould be finding once she started looking. But now, with a silent evening before her and banned from going home, curiositygot the better of her and she began running her eyes over the backs of those books bound in rich leather of various colours. There were the obvious classics, a large amount of those on international law and diplomacy, compendiums of recent and historical international treaties and then there were those untitled ones all covered in the same black leather, that made them melt into the background of the other books as if he tried to hide them between all those others. She reached for the ladder hanging from the shelf behind the doors and climbed up to pick up a random of those books. It lay heavy in her hands when she took it to the desk and opened it. To her surprise she found it to be written by hand. The pages were all covered in a very neat handwriting in ink. Flapping through the pages that were all neatly labelled with dates running back some two years, her heart skipped a beat upon the realisation of what she had just discovered. Mycroft kept a diary, almost obsessively. She closed the cover so hard she almost smashed her own finger. When she picked the book up to put it back to its place, it slipped and almost fell to the floor. A piece of paper made its appearance from between the pages written on also by hand, but in a much more messy handwriting. She pulled it from its hiding and found it to be a letter from Sherlock but not to Mycroft but to John. Upon my death to Doctor Watson it said in the first line. Someone else had added a date and the place at the top with an official stamp. It seemed to be a will of some sort, written only two days before Sherlock's "death". It entitled John to Sherlock's belongings and a rather hefty sum of money in a bank account at a private bank in London. It also told John that he was the only person in the world Sherlock ever had cared about and trusted and explained the set up of the plan of his faked death in quite some detail. Apparently Mycroft had been supposed to deliver it in case of Sherlock's actual death. She replaced it carefully and closed the book. John had no idea how deeply Sherlock apparently felt for him. All her grudge for the doctor acting so inconsiderate around Sherlock melted away. She began to wonder if he had any idea what Sherlock had gone through in order to save all their lives. That he had endured torture and had come close to being killed more than once. She had seen the file when they began to prepare Mycroft's mission, it had given her a rough idea what could happen to him if he was caught. But, John, he had no idea.

"I'm not sure I will be able to recover all the data on that. It has been severly damaged to say the least." Jonah looked at the flash drive. "Give meto the end of the week, I have one more option there but it will take some time to perform."

John nodded at him. Sherlock stood behind them, his mind already rattling away on the next actions to be taken. John had come in this morning, not as a friend but as a client. He had received threats against Mary and his unborn daughter delivered on postcards oddly enough. Even more strange was the fact that they were delivered in rhymed riddles.

"You really need to tell her about it. We can't keep her safe if she doesn't know!" He held John by the arm, trying to make him face him.

"I will tell her once we take her to a safe place. I don't want her to worry."

"She will be able to cope. I'm very sure it's not the first time she has to hide"

John freed himself from Sherlock's firm grip. "She is pregnant for goodness sake." He rubbed his face with both hands, a sign of utmost desperation.

"Where would your brother hide someone he wants to disappear?"

Sherlock shrugged. "How would I know. It's not like he talks to me."

"But we know someone who probably does or at least knows how to find out."Jonah turned around handing Sherlock his mobile that already dialled Emily's number.

 

The ring of the doorbell teared at the silence violently. It almost made her drop the fork into her salad. for a moment Emily wondered if she was actually entitled to open the door and so she hesitated hoping for the ringing to stop. But it grew even more determined and so she put down the napkin and swallowed the last sip from her glass of white wine. She had made her way halfway down the stairs when Mrs. Potter rushed to answer the ringing complaining rather loudly about its persistence. It was the whole bunch of them, John so very much out of breath as if he had run the entire way to Notting Hill from the office. Mrs. Potter recognized Sherlock and the complaining ceased for the benfit of an endless stream of praises fo the younger Holmes. 

"What happened?" Emily cut Mrs. Potter off rather brusquely who nevertheless continued to admire Sherlock from the kitchen.

"You didn't answer your mobile, again!" Jonah made his way to the living room, the other two following suit. 

"Yes, I must have left it in my coat downstairs." She lied. She had turned it off to at least be left alone during dinner. 

"There is something we need your help with." Sherlock dropped his bagand coat on the couch and immediately began pacing up and down the room.

"John? would you please explain the situation?" And so John did. The tension was showing in the way he fisted his hands and the way his mouth twitched. Emily listened silently, reading John's mind deducing the missing information from Sherlock's looks towards her. 

"So the main priority would be to get Mary out of town until John and I have found the soure of the blackmail or at least made sure she is safe here."

"Do you expect to find any connection to Moriarty?" Emily already fiddled with her phone, looking through the contacts for the most appropriate one to approach on the matter.

"It would surprise me if he wouldn't have his share in this, though I doubth e is writing the letters himself. I think he is using a middleman here."

Emily nodded in response. She had settled fo a contact and pressed to dial the number. As she found her call answered she left for the study, leaving the three behind. She felt like this was one of the emergencies Mycroft had been talking about. Maybe there was an answer already waiting for them in the envelope.

 

John could read from her face that she was able to help. there was a sign of relief playing around her eyes. He was finally able to breath a little lighter again.

"Right, I think I have found something appropriate." She pulled a paper from an envelope she had opened carefully by lifting the seal.

"Mycroft has left me some instructions in case of emergency, and I assume he would consider this an emergency." She continued placing a map on the top of the piano. "There is a place in Scotland we could use for the "matter" at hand and I just got the permission to take you and or Mary there." The option once more started a struggle in his mind. He really should stay with his pregnant wife and leave the chasing to Sherlock. But then he felt anger rising within him again upon the idea of this maybe being connected to Mary's past and envy at the idea of Jonah taking his place in the evolvement of the case. He saw the two of them exchanging meaningful looks as Emily spoke.

"You really you should stay here John. I'm not sure I will be able to be here the whole time to support Sherlock. Though he is very much able to solve it by himself I'm sure. However, your presence could be beneficial as it has proven to be on so many occasions."

"So this place is save to leave her there uhm unattended?" John tried to hide his excitement.

"She will be by no means unattended, I just arranged for that." Emily folded the map and replaced it carefully into the envelope. Something caught her eye but she stopped herself from pulling it from the envelope.

"So my brother for once proves to be of any use." Emily smiled at him upon his remark.

"So you keep up the fighting, even when he is not there to hear it?"

"Of course. It's a question of attitude." He smiled at her as well and pressed her shoulder gently passing her on the way to the couch. She caught hold of his hand and held it there for a second.

"John, I think it would be best to have Mary picked up immediatly and bring her here. I will arrange for her to be taken to Scotland first thing in the morning." John nodded and left the room to call Mary.

The knock on the door of the study woke Emily from her thoughts. She was battling herself whether she should open envelope that was labelled "No notice within eight days" as the time span had almost elapsed. She lifted her head towards the door and saw John peeking in.

"Come in." 

He entered the room looking as if he felt just as awkward about the situation of being alone with her.

"I wanted to thank you for well..." he sighed.

"No need to. Really." She offered him one of the leather chairs near the window which he gladly accepted.She placed herself opposite giving her most inviting smile.

"John, I know you don't really appreaciate my presence..." He cur her off mid sentence.

"No, really, Emily you really got me wrong there, I am happy that you get along so well with Sherlock and that you look out for him. " She nodded and laughed relieved.

"Did you hear anything from Mycroft?" The question made her face melt into a mask of pain for a second and by his looks she knew that he had noticed. So no point in denying the facts.

"No, actually I was just contemplating on that matter. He left me a letter I am to open if I don't receive a message from him withtin eight days and that time span will have elapsed in about three hours." She gave him another insecure smile and was surprised to find compassion on his face.

"How does he contact you then? Could it be possible that you missed the message?"

"He usually sends random things either to the office or to Baker Street. I'm sure he doesn't send things that I would be able to miss, but then I have been going over the last days in my ind, thinking if there was anything... I could just get over and done with it and open the letter, but I'm afraid of what I might find inside." She rubbed her face with both hands and gave him another smile that conveyed her desperation much more than hiding it.

"So three hours you said?" He turned to get a peek of the silver clock standing on the mantle piece."Would you like me to wait with you then? Mary has gone to bed and I'm too wound up to sleep anyway" he added almost apologetically. Emily beamed at him and accepted the peace offer fervently.

 


	13. Farewell to Mary

They spent the hours talking about the case and more general topics, Sherlock wandering in and out of the study sometimes joining in the conversation, sometimes leaving without giving any explanation. John was glad to find that talking to her now became easier as they had cleared the air between them. He could see what Mycroft must have seen in her, she always seemed attentive to everything around her but other than the Holmes brothers or Jonah for that matter, there was a calmness raying from her that suggested and supported thought. Seeing her sitting there, he couldn't help but wonder what the two of them would be talking about, what Mycroft was like once you got close to him, once he opened up.

The silver clock gave a melodious ring and its pieces sparkled in the light of the ceasing fire as they turned the hands of the clock. She watched it as if her stare could stop it from finishing the process.

"Time is up." She got up from her chair and decidedly picked up the envelope from the desk.

He followed her slowly, keeping behind her a few steps. She picked up a little knife and opened the envelope with one quick sweep. The first pages were apparently a handwritten letter which she quickly put down on the desk. She unfolded an official writing from a bank with a list of bank accounts and a list of passwords which she quickly folded and placed in her pocket.

"You should probably read that on your own. I'll be downstairs." He pointed to the letter and turned to leave. Upon closing the door he saw her unfolding the pages with trembling fingers. 

 

 

My dearest Emily,

 

I hope still as I' m writing these lines that you will never have to read them. I haven' t known you for a long time and it pains me, as I wonder what could have become of us. The moment I lay eyes on you back in the library I was overwhelmed by your existence and unpracticed in expressing feelings as I am I lack the words to describe what that day on the beach in Brighton did to me. There has been not a single day since the moment you stepped into my life that I was able to take you of my mind. You have inwritten yourself deeply in my heart and you will stay there to the moment I shall take my last breath.

Since you opened this letter there is a good chance that we will not meet again and so I ask you to take care of some of my business. You will find a list of passwords and accounts attached to the letter with instructions on how to pay Sherlock's rent and expenses, about his trust fund and how to manage it. If you shall not have heard from me within a month of opening this letter, I ask you to put the house and everything that is in it on the market and share the revenue between Sherlock, my parents and yourself. After all I planned on spending the rest of my life with you, so it seemed reasonable to put you down as one of my heirs with my lawyer. He will contact you in one month time from now as well, however, you will find his contact details in the envelope as well.

It calms me immensely to know that I do not have to ask you to take care of Sherlock should I really not be returning. I know him safe in your presence and though he will not admit for the sake of his life, I know with certainty that he feels the same. After all you have changed both our lives in the short period of your presence in it.

I wished I had found the strength within me to say this back that night we danced on Tower Bridge, but I haven't mostly because I wasn't yet fully aware of it myself: Emily Peerson, you made me the happiest I have ever been in my life, I fell for you completely and though it seems unlikely considering the short time of our acquaintance, but I love you from the bottom of my heart.

 

Mycroft Holmes

 

And so her fears had come true. She had found in that letter everything she had been dreading and much more. To know that he had loved her just as much as she had kindled that feeling for him in her heart, made the loss appear even more painful.

 

She watched John seeing Mary of as she got into one of those special black cars very early in the morning. The morning mist still hung in the street and the houses around still seemed to be asleep apart from some gardeners beginning their chores.The agent she had asked to see Emily to Scotland nodded at her in recognition as she stood on the steps of Mycroft's house with Sherlock and Jonah, all of them in their dressing gowns. As the car turned around the corner, Emily let out a breath and turned inside the house.

Mrs. Potter had set up a lavish breakfast in the conservatory for all of them. Emily joined the table hestitantly, she knew that she would have to face questions to which she dreaded speaking the answers out loud. Sherlock had begun to run through the facts of he case with Jonah and John and she was happy to be ignored for some time. It was not until the plan of action was negotiated between them that Sherlock turned to her and inquired about any news from his brother. Emily gave John a quick glance upon the question who held her gaze and pressed his lips together.

"The period of time that your brother set between two of his messages has elapsed last night. I opened the... instructions he left me for this eventuality. It said that I should wait another month before contacting his lawyer about his...final affairs." She choked on those last words and tightened all her muscles to keep herself from shaking. Sherlock's posture became more tight and controlled as well as he took in the news.

"It doesn't neccessarily mean he is dead. Maybe he is just held captive somewhere." Sherlock sipped on his cup of tea.

"Sherlock! Not helpful. Not at all!" John almost blushed on behalf of his friend.

"I know Sherlock. And I shall get into the office now to find out, actually." With that Emily got up and went upstairs to dress. She couldn't resist when she passed by the door of his walk-in closet. The whole room smelled so intensively of him. She picked up one of his shirts and buried her face in the soft fabric. The scent went directly to her brain and from there to her stomach. She couldn't hold back the noise building in her throat as the tears shot into her eyes. her stomach turned and she ran to the bathroom.

John heard the choking sounds as he passed on his way to get dressed himself. He struggled for a moment with himself before his profession got the better of him and he lightly knocked on the door. 

"Emily? Do you need help?" He didn't wait for an answer. He waited for her to finish and handed her a towel and some water in a beaker. She took it gratefully and settled herself on the marble floor, resting her head on the tiles of the tub behind her. I will give you the name of something that takes the nausea away. It's nothing very strong, Mary took it during..." he stopped himself as the thought entered his mind.

"We never did. It's just all a little much right now." she struggled herself to her feet. He went to the study and wrote down the name of the remedy and handed it to her. She nodded at him and picked up her briefcase.

"I will see you at Baker Street tonight." She obviously attempted a smile which he was glad to return.

 


	14. Sherlock Spills the Beans

Sherlock felt very uneasy about the whole situation. He felt pressure on him to react in some way towards the news about his brother that was outside the usual range of hiding behind their quarrels. John certainly would demand him to show any kind of emotional reaction and most certainly would once more try to make him express what he couldn't even label for himself. What was even more unsettling, John would probably expect him to express some kind of feeling about Mary being away and John missing her. Sherlock loved Mary, she was very much tolerable and he imagined that John would feel similar to the way Sherlock felt himself whenever John left him to go to Mary. But Sherlock couldn't imagine what he was supposed to say. Right now the problem of expressing some kind of solicitousness became pressing, John wore that face again, pacing through the flat. The face that expressed that Sherlock was behaving in some way out of order and his experience told him he had about two more minutes to get it right before John exploded and got angry at him. He watched John making his way between the kitchen and what used to be his room for the seventh time, when the solution finally entered his head. People expected that you expressed your understanding of their feeling (which he would have to fake to a high degree) and offered some kind of advice (which he was able to offer). Reliefed he jumped out of his chair in one swift and elegant movement. 

"You feel deserted and lonely. You worry about her. You should cook." He stated in a matter of fact manner.

John stopped in his tracks without facing him. Which told Sherlock that he had gone very wrong somewhere. He nervously cleared his throat.

"What?" John turned on his heel, showing his best angry face. "My wife has just been taken to a place that not even has an address so she doesn't get killed and you ask me to make you lunch?" The clenching of his fists told Sherlock that this was heading in a completely wrong direction.

"Which part of my reaction made you get angry? Did I get your feelings wrong or is it the advice that doesn't suit you?" He waved his hands dismissively at uttering the word feeling.

"Advice? You call asking me to cook advice?" The level of anger was reaching a dangerous height on his personal John-scale. This was getting close to the level he called the "don't talk about the content of my browser history in public level".

"Well, advice usually is defined as comparing the problematic situation the interlocutor is facing with one's own experience and offering a possible path of action resulting from that. I have recently found cooking to be an adequate relief when facing this kind of emotional turmoil and I just now tried to pass on this piece of advice to you!" He felt anger and desperation dwell up in himself out of a sudden. Things didn't use to be that difficult. It was only on his way to his bedroom when he noticed what other information he had just passed on without wanting to. He closed his eyes and stopped in his movement. The way John's stare burned on his back told him that John had not overheard the message between the lines.

"So you have felt lonely recently, Sherlock?" The anger was gone from his voice. It was a voice he hadn't heard John use before.

Still facing away from John, he pressed his lips together and took a deep breath to calm his own voice. It still trembled when he finally spoke. "That is not what I said." With that he went to his room and closed the door silently behind himself.

He had lain on his bed for twelve minutes staring at the marks several experiments had left on the ceiling, when John knocked at the door tentatively. He was in no mood to talk this out so he turned his back towards the door knowing very well that his chances of escape were very limited.

"Sherlock? Come on, talk to me. I didn't...I'm sorry" he sounded almost desperate. Sherlock was tempted to go over and just open the door but that would mean that there would be even more talking and he didn't trust himself anymore not to divulge something. Control was quickly slipping from his hands right now and he could not take any more of it. So he drew the duvet around himself and remained silent.

 

"Sherlock?" the door opened, John made some hesitant steps into the room. In all that time he hadn't been in here very often. It was the one place sanctuous to Sherlock, the place he went when everything was getting too much. "See, I was a git just now, I know you just tried to help. And actually I am hungry, so would you like a sandwich as well?" The lump on the bed didn't move. John ran two fingers along the bridge of his nose, he knew there was no point in trying to adress the issue. He had just witnessed Sherlock spill the beans about his feelings and he could only begin to imagine how that made the control freak feel. He waited another moment for a reaction from underneath the duvet but none was to be conceived. 

"I'll be outside, with a sandwich for you if you feel like you want to ...eat."

"You're just as bad as Mycroft." The duvet was thrown of the bed with unexpected force.The face appearing from underneath was covered in uncontrolled emotion. Those eyes were shooting arrows of desperation and blatant anger at him, the curls seemed to move on their own command. John let go of the doorhandle and prepared himself to take the blow.

"You expect me to react in a certain way and leave me to guess what exactly that is, though you know very well I'm...rubbish at figuring it out." Sherlock's hands were fisting the fabric of the spread sheet while his feet kicked to free themselves of the remaining part of the duvet on the bed.

"You walk in and out of...this and expect everything to go on as before. Only you are allowed to feel insecure about the changed...situation." 

John opened his mouth wanting to reply but was stopped by another blow of anger. 

"Things have changed John! I was very willing to accept it since it is my fault they did after all, but I'm no longer willing to pretend that it didn't happen or that it doesn't affect me." The detective was standing in the middle of the room by now, rage streaming through every muscle of his, setting them into motion all at once. John once more opened his mouth already knowing that he would not be allowed to speak.

"I'm not finished!" His voice sounded alarmingly similar to Mycroft's when he had a go at one of his staff. "You have no right to behave like this whenever Jonah or Emily are around. You have no right to be jealous. I'm not your exclusive back-up you can run to when you mess it up at home which you can however otherwise ignore. I'm not only here to clean up your mess. I've got enough of my own." Those last words were accompanied by a book hitting the wall behind John. As it hit the floor with a loud clank the tall man stormed past him and out of the room. John stayed where he was, overwhelmed by what he had just witnessed. The sound of the door falling into the lock finally woke him from his lockdown. He sat on the bed his hands and feet trembling.

"What is going on up here, could you please keep the shouting down, the neighbours might talk."

He heard Mrs. Hudson's voice from the living room but he didn't move.

"John, are you alright?" she peeked her head in through the door.

He lifted his head to look at her. "No, I'm not. I think Sherlock just broke up with me." He was surprised by his choice of expression himself but it was the only one his mind could manage at the moment


	15. Certain Parts of Town, Smelling of Neglect

The sheer energy released by the unfamiliar outburst of emotions drove Sherlock to wander aimlessly through the streets for hours. He had no idea where to turn or what to do. Those two things in his life usually offering safety and reassurance, John and Baker Street, were the source of the problem itself this time. He regretted every word that had left his lips today. None of this could be fixed. John would leave for good and he would be left to face once more the consequences of his complete incompetence on emotional matters. The Mycroft in his head wore a very worried and disappointed expression, slowly shaking his head. He wanted to forget and to shut up his brother in his mind. The light was slowly fading from the sky when he turned around the corner into a part of town he had learned to avoid in recent years. The run down houses and graffitis, the distinct smell of neglect, it brought back unpleasant memories but also a craving he had not felt in quite some time. He reached for his pocket and found his wallet.

 

The call reached Greg just as he was about to leave the office for the day. He let out a curse and rummaged through his pocket searching for his mobile.

"Lestrade?"

"Sherlock hasn't come home. We had a fight. I think he might do something stupid." John spoke without bothering with any kind of introduction. Desperation and fear dripped of every of his words.

"I'm on my way." He hung up and spurted down the hallway, almost knocking over another detective.

When he couldn't find a parking spot in Baker Street, he abandoned the car on the sidewalk. He hadn't reached for the doorbell yet when the door opened and Emily faced him.

"John called..."

"I know." She followed him up the stairs he had begun to mount without stopping.

 

John and he had jotted down a list of places where Sherlock could have gone. It was a rather difficult task to locate someone who made it a habit to walk over roofs and climb walls. They were now down to the last spot on the list. Greg drew up before the rundown warehouse. Its yard was already crowded by drug addicts at this time of day, lying in corners or fighting and yelling behind the smashed windows. The whole place smelled of urine and sweat, mingled with moist, mould and rotting garbage. The arrival of their car was observed closely by the crowd present and some began to shout abuse at them as John, Emily and Greg got out.

"John, you will do the ground floor, Emily and I work our way up." John nodded in agreement, reaching for his gun inside his jacket.

Greg turned on the torch as they made their way up the stairway. Greg didn't want to call out for Sherlock, he wouldn't answer anyway and it would announce their coming to everyone in the building. So they went through the drug den room by room, stepping over people on the floor, ignoring the curses hissed at them by those the cone of light hit. It was odd to hope to find him and at the same time to hope desperatly he wouldn't find him in this spot.

"Do you actually know what happened?" He turned to Emily who was walking close behind him. She sighed. "Mary had to leave town this morning, she has received blackmail lately, threatening her life and that of the baby. Obviously John is very upset about the whole affair, he snapped at Sherlock for ignoring his emotional state and Sherlock completely lost it. It was to be expected, I was waiting for this to happen for days." Her feet got caught on something on the floor as she spoke and Greg barely managed to catch her by her arm. 

"If we really are so unfortunate to find him here, it might be best to keep them seperated for a while so things can cool down a little."

"John can't go to his place, its too dangerous and I don't have enough people to have both houses watched."

He looked at her with disbelief. 

"There is a difference between me asking for such services and Mycroft doing it." She smirked.

They found him crouched into a corner on the last floor. Greg lowered the torch and knelt down. Sherlock lifted his head looking somewhat relieved to see him. 

"I didn't do it. Couldn't get myself to."

"I hope you don't mind me having that checked at Bart's." He picked him up under his right arm and looked him over.

 

Sherlock had agreed for John to take his blood who established he was indeed clean. The hours of walking however, had taken their toll and the man collapsed the moment he entered his living room. Greg and John made him take off his clothes that were damp with sweat and tucked him into bed. He was still too agitated to find sleep so Emily had taken a place on the bed and began reading to him from a book she had found on the nightstand. John stood, leaning against the closet for a while, watching the peculiar scene. Sherlock's head rested on one of Emily's thighs as she read to him about insects feeding on rotten carcass. The long lashes still fluttered and his shoulders shook under the duvet. There was a good chance he would be catching a cold from this. Emily excused herself to fetch a glass of water when she reached an especially detailed description of how to use maggots as a marker for he age of carcass.

"You're still here." Sherlock's eyes opened and blinked at him.

"Would you like me to leave?" John crossed his arms before his chest, he wasn't really willing to leave, there was too much guilt and fear and anger tearing at his guts.

"No." Sherlock turned and reached for the book Emily had abandoned on the bed, holding it out to John. He accepted it with hesitation, not really knowing how to act. But then he settled himself in Emily's spot and picked up where she had left off. Sherlock drew the duvet up over his shoulders again and rested his head on John's lap. John would keep reading even when Sherlock's breath began to even and he finally drifted off into sleep.

 

The sound of John's voice turned into a distant, regular beat as Sherlock's eyes closed onto the world. He stood in a great hall from which a dozen of doors led to an uncountable number of other rooms. His steps echoed under the glass dome that covered it and flodded it with light. The black dust was distirred by them and danced in the rays of light. He was unsure where to turn, he needed comfort and advice. His brother wouldn't do, he was as clueless on these matters as he was himself and surely would preach to him about the incident at the warehouse.

A door to his left opened and Jonah strolled idly towards him, chewing on a piece of apple. The dust danced wildly as he neared him.

"For someone who claims to have no friends and give a damn about emotion, it can get quite crowded up here. You make me share a room with that Victor, who is that anyway."

"An old friend of mine. We met at university. Yes, indeed you seem to fall in the same category."

Jonah shrugged. "I guess I can count myself lucky it's him and not that mad guy next door."

Sherlock had a rough idea who he was referring to.

"The place could do with some dusting." Jonah kicked up a cloud of black sand. 

"That's partly what I'm here for." Sherlock hid his hands in the pockets of his suit. It was the suit he had been wearing for John's wedding he was surprised to notice.

"Any advice where to turn on this matter?"

"I'll be of no help, I'm afraid, we both have our problems with that side of the world, those emotions. I can just tell you about my own humble observations.You know, people don't understand that kind of dedication towards others without wanting them in a...physical way. They fall mostly for the physical part of a person, you and I, we fall for minds and sometimes both, but at least for me that never happened." 

With that he turned and left towards a door opposite of that he had come out of. And then Sherlock noticed it. A door barred with several planks, vibrating as if someone kicked against it from the inside. The black dust was streaming out of it, blown through the gap underneath the door with every beat from inside. As he stepped closer he heard the muffled sound of screams, just barely recognisable as human. Every inch of him revolted, but it knew it had to be done, he had to face it to make it stop. And so removed the first plank. With the next beat from inside the others were blown away like toothpicks, the door flung open and black dust covered him to the ankles. With one step he was back in that cell in Eastern Europe, felt the blood dripping down his chest and back, felt the burning in his head. When his senses revived he saw him, Jim Moriarty grinning at him, madness apparent in his every move.

"Look who came to find me." He sang it standing close to Sherlock's ear. "I told you you chose the wrong one, the wrong side. You cared about John, you went to be beaten up for him, you chased me down to keep him safe. And where did it bring you?" His face was close to his now, he could smell the spearmint of his gum and something that reminded him of gunpowder.

"It brought you this" he let the dust run through his fingers the face deformed by a horrible grin. "Dust, your cherished little brain, it will be reduced to dust!" He blew the powder in his face and Sherlock coughed. He heard the sound of a whip landing on his back but hardly felt it. A voice came down to him, he first didn't recognise but it sounded soothing and stopped the pain. He let himself fall into the sound, backwards he fell, a familiar feeling, the mind palace disappeared and he woke in his bedroom, once more shaking and covered in sweat.

"Sherlock, wake up!" The voice said. It was John leaning over him, mumbling soothingly as he padded his forehead with a damp towel. Sherlock felt his throat was sore, his fingers ached, he had drawn blood by cramping them into his own palm.

"Why are you here, John?" 

"I've been here all the time. You caught a cold and have a fever, just a bad dream."

"No John I need to know, why are you here?" He saw that John didn't understand at first what he was aiming at, but then his face relaxed above him and his hand ran once more over his forehead with that towel, he was glowing with heat.

"Because I'm your friend and you are my best friend." He kept up the cleaning with one hand, opening Sherlock's fists with the other cursing at the pools of half dried blood on the palms.

"Emily!" It took mere seconds for her head to appear in the door. She was still dressed. 

"We need to get his temperature down, this will not do." He opened the top buttons of Sherlock's pyjama who was breathing flat at an alarming rate. He felt the sweat drip of his chest, dampening the fabric of the pyjama.

"I'll go find a pharmacy, I don't have anything here to give him." He let go of Sherlocks wrist he had been holding to take his pulse. Sherlock grabbed his hand and gasped.

"Don't leave, don't you leave!" Another shiver went through his entire body.

"Sherlock, this is a bit not good, you really need to take something."

"Just write down the name of what you need, I will see to it." Emily passed him her phone and he typed the name of the medication into it.

 

John was scared out of his mind the way Sherlock reacted to the fever. There was little he could do but keeping him from falling out of bed and harming himself more than he already had. It seemed like he was fighting himself in his fever dreams. Blurts of conversation were muffled by groans. When he couldn't stand it any more, he firmly took Sherlock's head in his hands and tried to wake him. The blue eyes fixed on him and slowly the breathing calmed a little.

"It was horrible John. I don't want to remember it but it covers everything."

"Sherlock, what is horrible? Out with it, it will help."

"When I was caught and Mycroft had to come for me. I thought I would never see you again. I thought I let you down, I left you alone. I was selfish, I just wanted you there with me."

"It's alright now, I know you are sorry and I forgave you long ago. What happened to you when you were away? Tell me." John's hand still held the sweaty head firmly, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's. At first it were only syllables, then unconnected phrases and words but then it streamed out of him, completely unorganized but articulated enough to give him an idea, everything that had happened to him back in Serbia. And John listened to the confused tale of torture and escape, of being recaptured and tortured again. It was nothing he hadn't heard wounded soldiers talk about when waking from sedation, but that it had happened to Sherlock shook his professional attitude hard. It brought his heart close to breaking. 

The babbling hadn't ceased yet when Emily entered handing him the packet of pills. She didn't seem surprised by the fragments she heard, though she wore a very concerned look. She poured water into a glass and placed it on the nightstand. When Sherlock seemed to have ended his confession, she helped John sit him up and slipped the pills into his mouth. She handed him the water which he drank eagerly. John applied iodid to Sherlock's abused hands and pressed rolls of tissue into them, so his nails would not catch in his flesh again. They watched the head fall back onto the pillows again and his muscles relax as the drug began to kick in.

When their patient seemed to hold his peace, John found the time to look at Emily. She hid her concern well, but the panic slowly began to show, as the pressure of the moment ceased. He nodded her to follow him outside and they both crawled out of Sherlock's bed.

"Did you know about this?" He carefully leaned the door, one hand remaining on the handle.

She nodded. "I saw the report when we began the planning for Mycroft's leave. Sherlock initially wanted to go himself again, but Mycroft decided he was not in a state to go."

He saw in her eyes that she was already sensing his reply, so he kept silent.

"We thought it would be best he told you yourself and he made it quite clear he didn't want you to know about the details."

"This family is a fucking madhouse." He tried to control his anger and desperation looking at her worn and tired face.

"I'm afraid that's why we both keep sticking around." She grinned and he knew she was right.

"He will sleep for some hours from now on, so go and at least lie down somewhere. We can take turns." She obeyed his order and fell onto the sofa, swiftly drifting off into her own mind.

 

Greg took a turn by Baker Street on his way to work early in the morning. He figured that there was nothing left in the fridge and maybe John and Emily needed help with anything. He picked up some bread rolls and coffee and rang the bell. It was Mrs. Hudson that answered and led him in. The flat was silent and seemed deserted. He dropped the bag on the table and walked towards Sherlock's bedroom. The door was leaning and he entered carefully. The curtains had been opened and a fresh wind was blowing in. And there they were, lying on top of Sherlock's bed, the tall detective curled up between them, his head resting on John's lap, one of his hands fisting in Emily's shirt. She lay curled around him, her hand resting on his shoulder. All three of them looked battered, as if they had spent the night running after criminals. Sherlock's skin seemed even more translucent, the remains of last night's exhaustion still showing on it. He hardly dared to move so not to break the spell. It was Mrs. Hudson who took that chore on herself.

"Miss Peerson, there is a car wating for you outside." Emily stirred. She looked around an tried to get away without waking Sherlock. John rubbed his face and noticed the little assembly taking place in the bedroom.

"Please ask him to wait, I will be down." She scrambled to her feet, pulling the duvet back up over Sherlock as he seemed to start to wake. 

"You will need another shirt." John wispered and pointed at the spot Sherlock had crinked the fabric.

 

Greg followed Emily to the living room and held out a coffee and a bread roll when she returned from her room. She gave him a genuine smile. "He had a rough night, they...both had." 

"Will John be staying with him?" 

She nodded. "I'm really late now. Thank you for passing by and for this." She raised the paper cup and the remains of the breadroll before she hastened down the stairs. He smiled until he suddenly remembered something he had almost forgotten. 

"Emily!" he ran after her. She turned and looked at him from the bottom of the stairs. "When I came in I found a letter on the pavement. I think it just got lost when the mail was delivered. It says to Miss Holmes. I suppose that is you?"

She furrowed her brows and made her way back up with two enormous steps. He handed her the envelope that she opened with one tear along the side. Inside was nothing but a folded papership that was glued to a postcard of Tower Bridge. She choked and her eyes lit up. "That is good news indeed, I have been waiting for this." she added as if to explain herself to him. With that she turned and jumped down the stairs laughing.

 

John had found the delivered breakfast and sat in his chair munching on a breadroll. Greg placed himself in Sherlock's chair, a liberty he would never have taken, had he been in the room.

"So it's kind of settled between you and him again?"

"That case really seems to get to him. He just overreacted, not surprising, since there are so many people involved that are close to him." John sipped on his cup, giving Greg his best doctor look.

"When will he be able to help again? The cases are piling upon my desk."

"Give him two days, I think it really is just a cold."

"There is something you don't tell me."

"Yep. But I promise to change that as soon as I got it all straightened out in my head."

Greg left with a strange feeling that this was indeed not the end of the story but that they were really heading for something big here with speed of light.

 

John finished the coffee and had another bread roll before checked on his patient. Sherlock still lay curled up on top of the duvet, cheeks still flushed with feverish heat. This was no cold he knew it all too well, this was nervous fever, Sherlock was completely overtaxed with whatever was going on inside him. He thought about asking him to see somebody, but that was probably like drawing blood from a stone, completely pointless. He hadn't thought that his leaving would affect the man so much. After all, he hardly seemed to notice him at times, back then before his fall. So they both had underestimated the other's feelings and hurt the other deeply. This revelation felt like punch to the stomach. Sherlock Holmes had felt lonely without him. He would have to, no he would do whatever he could to keep that creature save, he thought watching the porcellaine white chest rise and fall with regular but strained breathing. He went again to get a damp towel and removed the white lines of salt that had built up on Sherlock's forehead and throat. He woke for some seconds looking at him with confusion but the lids closed again quickly and he seemed to lean into the touch of John's hand. It gave his heart a feeling he was almost ashamed of as it was usually related to Mary, but it forced him to spend the day in the flat, silently watching Sherlock and feed him soup in those few wake moments


	16. Postcards, Good and Bad

Jonah watched the program count down the last moments. He was sure he would be able to save at least some of the data on that memorystick. Why John was so interested in it, he didn't ask him, it seemed a little private and Jonah hated nothing more than intruding the private affairs of others. He had silently assumed that this was somehow connected to the blackmailing and John's wife. He had made it a habit to keep his distance to people other than his sister, it kept the pressure out of his life and saved him from explaining himself again and again. As long as his relations remained professional, people didn't mind the peculiarities in his behaviour, they saw it as part of the price that they paid for his services. At university he was safe from questions as well, one expected him to be a bit odd, that was seen as being a prerequisite to his genius. All this made him feel so horribly nervous about the arrangements he found himself in since he had accepted Mycroft's offer. Sherlock and Mycroft required his help as well but they seemed to accept his presence beyond that and with Sherlock the boundaries between business and friendship had quickly blurred.  
The program gave a little noise when it had finished. Jonah was relieved to find he would be able to provide John and Sherlock with the restored data. And so he opened the first folder of data. It were files scanned, documents. It related to the killing of a politician in Western Africa. He opened another folder and another. It was all of similar sort and it was one name that kept coming up. Agatha Raven. She seemed to be the agent given the jobs. He roughly summed up the missions that Agatha seemed to have accomplished and came to a surprising number of about forty killings. He drew air through his teeth.Though he had overheard some details of the everyday work that was accomplished at this "office", that seemed to him an astounding number. He quickly typed a message to Sherlock to let him know he would be over tonight, he had skipped their usual dinners the last days in favour of trying to decode some of the new material Mycroft had sent over some weeks ago. But there seemed to be no real advance to be made on that front. The codes on themselves were disfunctional and empty, he assumed once the code was connected in the right way, it would connect into a program or virus of some sort. So far he couldn't find the connection point.  
Instead of Sherlock it was John who answered his text. Sherlock was ill and would not be able to work. Emily would provide dinner however, and he was welcome to join. So he gave his goodbye to the few others still working in the lab and left for Baker Street once more.

Emily had invited Greg to join them for their daily dinner as well, after all he had been a vital part of last night's actions and after all he had brought her the message she had waiting for so badly. Her thoughts went back to the night on Tower Bridge as she turned the postcard in her hands. Wherever he was, he seemed to think of it as well. The car drew up before the flat and she was relieved to find the lights on behind Sherlock's window. At least he was well enough to be awake.  
She was greeted with the clatter of dishes and the sound of relaxed chatting as she opened the door and put down her briefcase. She was pleasantly surprised to find her brother in conversation with Greg and John, Sherlock in their middle, silent but listening.  
"Ah, there is the food,I'm starving." Her brother mocked her as he took the bags of take away from his hands.  
The conversation quickly resumed, circling mostly around the case of Mary. Emily stood behind Sherlock's chair and placed a hand on his shoulder that he quickly grabbed and pressed for a second. She handed him the postcard, which he took, turned in his hand and pressed her hand once more.  
"Told you, Mycroft is hard to get rid of." He looked at her with a very weak smile. The exhaustion was still present all over his body.  
Sherlock and Emily kept mostly silent as the others gathered around and food was piled onto plates but it was obvious on Sherlock's face that he enjoyed the company and didn't mind the chatter, that slowly drifted into more trivial topics as Greg and John discussed soccer. Jonah asked the odd coy question which they were eager to answer.  
Emily was glad that the distraction kept Jonah from bringing up the data on the stick. he had sent her a text about it earlier and she had asked him to give Sherlock another night's break. Jonah had frowned and refused at first, he hated to keep his finding to himself. Looking into the tired face of the detective, she knew whatever was on that stick could wait another night.  
John had forced Sherlock into bed and settled himself on the couch next to Emily. He waved the postcard at her he had found in the pocket Sherlock's dressing gown.  
"So, good news, is it?" he grinned at her blushing.  
"Guess so, yes. Though it's unsettling that we have lost contact to him, expect for that." She snapped the card from his hands and shuffed it into the backpocket of her trousers.  
"Do you think we will have to take turns again?" Emily nodded towards Sherlock's door.  
"He'll be fine. you take the room, I'll sleep on the couch, I'll hear if he needs anything." He pushed Emily towards her room.  
"I guess I see you at breakfast then." she yawned.

 

It was the first in a long time that Sherlock woke from an entire night of sleep. The noises of waking Baker Street brought him back from a relievingly dreamless sleep. He steepled himself to his elbows to test if he was at all able to get up, yesterdays attempts of getting out of bed alone had left him with some heavy bruises. He still felt like he had been crying the whole night, but the feeling slowly disappeared towards the back of his mind. So he flung back the duvet and went to his living room. Jonah was there, he sat, his laptop propped on his thighs in front of the fireplace. The floor was covered in paper which Sherlock knelt down to pick up. One short glance was sufficient to know that these were the files he had recovered from the data stick.  
"Did you show him yet?"  
"Nope, thought I'll have another look through them before the emotional turmoil it will cause fuzzes everything up for a while."  
"He is usually quite good at keeping his feelings out of the work." Sherlock felt as if he had to defend John against being seen as unprofessional. Jonah picked up a sheet that was covered in pictures of victims and handed it to him wordlessly. Sherlock looked over the pictures and weighed his head.  
"Yes, well maybe he will be a little affected by this one."  
The noises of running water from the bathroom ceased and John entered the living room.  
"All right, show me then." He had a grim look of determination on his face.

As the postcard was delivered, a new set of copied information arrived at the office as well. Emily was relieved to find it on her desk as it meant he was still there, still working supposedly undetected. For the first time in days the nausea began to cease. In some moments she caught herself humming to a melody that was playing inside her, calm and steady. The fear of losing what she had gained only so recently had tensed all her muscles to the point of immobilising her at times. In no time this whole arrangement, the dinners, living with Sherlock, knowing her feelings for Mycroft were reciprocted, being included in what was quickly growing to be a strange version of family, had become the one point that stabilised her life. Despite all the fear and uncertainty, she felt like she was in the right place for the first time.

Sun was just not his element, he decided with a surpressed curse. Though he had spent most of the time inside the office building, the desert sun had gotten to him and burned his arms and face repeatedly, but this last exposure had just been too much. His lips felt swollen and were severly chipped. He tasted the blood and salt on them, even now that he sat in the climatised gate of the airport. His escape had been surprisingly smooth, it had however included walking through the desert heat for about an hour before he had been able to have himself picked up by a truck that took him to the next town. Only here it had been safe to approach his contact and arrange his return. The company in Utah certainly was dubious and worked for several clients that could be rated as criminal, but also in this case they were only acting on behalf of a client. He had been able to gather some information about the client ordering that virus. In some hours that whole place would be raided by special forces and police under the smoke screen of tax assault, closing the place down without making it too obvious to the client they were on his trail.  
"Mr. Holmes, your plane is here." a woman with a friendly face led him the way towards the tarnac. His whole body ached and his skin was burning as it was once more exposed to the sun. He tried to fall asleep the moment he touched that airplane seat but his mind refused to calm down. In all those weeks he had barely slept more than a few hours, his mind constantly processing something. He was looking forward to getting home, he saw himself standing on the landing of his house, Emily opening the door and smiling at him. But the feeling made him so giddy, sleep was becoming impossible.

The message reached her in the middle of a meeting she had only half-heartedly followed. One of the secretaires had come up to her and handed her a slip of paper.  
Mr. Holmes due to land at 18:00 today.  
She tried to not move her face expression as the information finally entered her consciousness. Hardly anyone at the office knew about them and she preferred to keep it that way. So she forced herself to keep her place and not show any signs of the excitement that was almost bursting her inside.  
The moment the most urgent tasks were dealt with, she dropped everything and excused herself to Mycroft's secretary. Her steps took up pace as she approached the exit of the building. By the time she had reached the street corner she was running at full speed. She just couldn't sit in a car, she had the need to move by herself as quickly as she could. People jumped out of her way as she ran down the pavement. Then she stopped apruptly when she noticed she had no idea where to meet him. His phone was in that cardboard box together with his other belongings, so she couldn't contact him. Where would he go first? Baker Street? Probably not, as chances were high he would find the place empty at this time of day. Which left her with his house and the office. The real question was where would he think she would be waiting for him? A smile began to beam all over her face when realisation hit her like lightening and she began to speed her steps once more.

His first movement had been towards the pocket of his jacket to reach for his phone out of habit only to find it wasn't there. So he had to rely on that she had gotten the message at the office. He didn't want to give a meeting point there, he didn't know whom she had told about their connection and rumour was running at speed of light through the office. Stepping through the glass doors once more, he received his clothes back and he was in a hurry to get rid of his disguise. He had grown a stubble from those two days he had been on the move now, but he felt too tired to take up on the offer of a razor and a shower. All he wanted was to get home. He got into the waiting car and let himself fall back against the seat.  
"Mr. Holmes?" The driver waited for him to name an adress. He didn't open his eyes, enjoying the cold of the leather seat against his burnt skin too much. "Tower Bridge, please".  
"Tower Bridge Sir?"  
"Yes, I need to pick someone up there."

He stopped the car just a corner away from the bridge and got out. His legs were demanding movement, he couldn't sit another second. His walking soon turned into running as he zigzagged his way along the pavement.He could tell her from the crowd even before her face became distinguishable for his eyes. he recognized her posture, she was leaning against the parapet, nervously playing with the seams of her shirt. He slowed his steps, suddenly feeling awkward about the meeting. Her hair was dishevelled in the most loveable way, she must have run her fingers through it repeatedly. And then she noticed him. He could tell from the way her posture changed, the way she pushed herself off the parapet, taking a few steps in his direction before stopping again. It was him who hurried his steps now, and as she noticed, she also began to walk towards him. They met somewhere close to the middle, people pushing by. They just stood and looked at each other, not sure they were to believe the existence of the other. After something that felt like hours, she feebly held her hand out towards him and he drew her into his arms, pressing her face to his chest, burrying his nose in her hair. They didn't speak, there was nothing that had to be said and when he broke the embrace, they walked close, exchanging short and nervous glances.

Mrs. Potter opened the door as the car stopped in front of the town house. Mr. Holmes looked very tired and strangely nervous.  
"Mr. Holmes, so good to have you back." He gave her a genuine smile.  
"Good evening Mrs. Potter." He held the door of the car opened and she was only mildly surprised to see Emily crawl out from the back seat. Seeing him blush upon her noticing, she tried to give her face the most neutral look he was capable of and refrained from any further comment. He ran his fingers through his hair, the three of them standing in the hall of his house.  
"You should really get something for that sunburn of yours." Emily was the first to break the silence. She was about to pick up her bag and head for a chemist, an attempt to escape Mrs. Potter's inquisitive stare when she was stopped by her protest.  
"Oh, no,no I can certainly do that." With that she turned an hurried towards the door.

"I'll try and find you a towel and something less heavy to wear" She choked and hurried up the stairs. Mycroft had never wanted a shower so badly. He passed the open door of his study on his way to the bathroom. The desk held some piles of paper and an empty tea cup. His heart strangely jumped at finding traces of her having been here during his absence. He undid his shirt and toyed off his shoes on the way. The cool water worked miracles on his abused skin. He let it run down him without moving, his forehead resting against the tiles of the shower.When he finally decided to step out, he found she had put out a towel a t-shirt and some cotton pyjama bottoms for him on the chair in the corner.He slowly pulled the trousers up, his arms hurting with sunburn. In the end the sun had gotten even to those parts of his body that had been covered up by his shirt. He turned when he heard a slight knock on the door. He opened the door for her and stepped aside to let her in.  
"Mrs. Potter just brought this up." She held out a tube. Instead of taking it, he sat himself on the floor and turned his back to her. She knelt down behind him and started to spread the cream with featherlight touches. He exhaled audibly when she reached some of the areas that had been exposed the most like his neck, but mostly he revelled in the cool her fingers spread over his body. When he felt her stop, he simply turned around and let her work over his chest and face. She looked very concentrated while working her way over his body and he watched her, his feelings for her building up with every stroke of her fingers. She carefully replaced the cap onto the tube and finally found the courage to look into his eyes. They hadn't spoken more than a few words since that embrace on the bridge, but strangely he didn't mind that at all. Somehow he felt like he needed to return some of those touches and so he touched her cheeks with his hand running his fingers over her temples. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. He could feel her pulse racing behind the soft skin.  
"Your postcard got lost, well almost. It reached me two days late." She spoke under her breath, not opening her eyes as he kept up the movement of his hands.  
"It means I opened that letter of yours." He held his breath as she uttered it but kept his fingers moving over her face.  
"You really want to spend the rest of your life with me?"  
Instead of answering, he fortified the touch of his fingers. She opened her eyes and he held her stare. He was unable to speak. The feelings building up in him became unbearable and were surely unspeakable. He bit his lip and hissed when he found it still sore despite the generous amount of lip balm she had applied to them in the car.  
"Do you object to that?" he finally managed. She shook her head furiously as water crept up in her eyes. He kept staring at her in awe as she took his hand in hers and kissed it over and over.  
In his mind palace doors swung open with the force of a sudden summer wind announcing a thunderstorm. Music streamed from every corner, leaving golden trails in the air. He followed it until he reached that cliff again, he was standing there looking over the ocean that complimented the beat of the music. Everything was humming, everything was vibrating, everything was glorious. He stood, his feet touching the rim of the abyss below him. One day, he would give in and lean forward, give up all the control and just let himself fall to see what it was like.  
"Mycroft?" he came back to see her holding out her hand to him standing next to him. He took it and let himself being pulled off the floor.

"Goodness, everybody rejoice, my brother has touched English ground an hour ago." Sherlock sounded only half as sarcastic as he had intended to, which annoyed him slightly. Jonah's eyes however glowed with anticipation. The prospect of working on new material always made him antsy. Sherlock looked at the younger man secretly smiling to himself upon the recognition of his reaction. John only nodded curtly towards him to let him know he had taken in the information. He was waiting for a line to build up on a special phone Emily had given him to contact Mary. Sherlock only hoped he would have the willpower to not talk to her about the content of the memory stick. The last thing they needed was the Watson's having a domestic over a secure line, the half of MI6 listening. As John closed the door to Sherlock's bedroom behind himself, Sherlock and Jonah began picking up papers and pinning them to the already very abused wall over the couch. They worked silently next to each other, matching the postcards with pieces of information from the files. So far, no connection seemed to hold for all the poems.  
"Poems, why poems?" Sherlock muttered to himself.

John was anxious to hear Mary's voice. He wanted to hear she was alright, wanted to hear their daughter was alright. He did however not want to address the elephant in the room, the whole thing made him so uncomfortable about his own feelings. He felt guilty for holding Mary responsible, he felt guilty for feeling guilty. And so he kept their conversation on save ground, discussing vanities. She returned the favour and did not ask about the work he and Sherlock were doing. After half an hour the line broke and a friendly female voice told him the contact had been interrupted, he should try again later. "Maybe whoever was asked to listen to their conversation for professional reasons got sick at hearing them beating around the bush and ended this comical tragedy of a phonecall." he thought as he put the phone down. Sitting on the edge of Sherlock's bed, the whole absurdity of his situation hit him. He had married an assassin and now he sat in the flat of his once dead best friend trying to save her from being killed, most likely by the same lunatic that had forced that friend into faked suicide. If he ever decided to hand in his life as a movie script, it surely would be refused for being outrageously unrealistic.


	17. Centre of the Universe

 

The buzzing of the phones was not noticed either by Emily nor Mycroft. They stuck in the pocket of their jackets which had somehow ended up on the floor in the hall, while those two sat on the bed, thigh to thigh relating their respective tale of their time apart. The TV was running muted, Mycroft had turned to CNN, curious if the raid would make it into the news.

"So you think John understood by now what is really going on?"

"With regard to Mary? Well, he has no choice but to face some facts there at the moment."

"I was thinking about my brother's unhealthy fixation on him."

"Mycroft, I'm not sure your brother understands what he feels with regard to him."

"I'm seriously fighting an instinct to lock them both in a room and have them either figure it out or kill each other in the process."

"My bets are with John being the survivor. However, I don't think Sherlock wants John to leave Mary, it's always him who encourages them to work things out. He even encouraged John to go with her to Scotland."

"My brother is a dangerous lunatic when it comes to giving himself up for those he loves. He jumped off a bloody roof to save John. What else does he have to do to make him realise?"

"I didn't think you know how to swear." she giggled.

"Bloody bugger, buggery." he smirked. She laughed at the growling voice and American accent he applied, pressing her face into his arm. Mycroft hissed another abundance of curses into her ear and she wiggled as if he tickled her. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so at ease and alive. When he began to nibble on her ear, he felt her arm curl around him. She pressed herself into him with all her strength. He shifted so he could return the embrace and she crawled into his lap, hiding her face at his neck, careful not to touch the very burned spots. He held her close for a long time staring out of the window, watching the sun set over London.

 

"Why does he not answer his phone, my brother always answers his phone." Sherlock pouted.

John rolled his eyes looking up from the files. "Don't you think he might be...busy tonight?"

"I don't think he went straight back to the office today. He usually works from home the day after oversea trips. He blames it on the jetlag." Sherlock gave his phone another annoyed look.

"I was not referring to work." John sighed as Sherlock's face grew even more confused. "Did you ever have that certain conversation with your father or mother? About flowers and bees..."

"My mother gave up talking to me when I was about eight. From then on it was mostly Mycroft who explained things."

"Oh, I do understand that reaction to a certain degree." John turned back to the table, typing another line from the poems into the search engine. He couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock was actually aware of this side of human relationships. And if he was why he so determinedly decided to ignore it. The thought had come up once before when the woman seemed to have sparked up some interest in him. He was never sure if that had been put on for the sake of the case, playing along her game, or if any of it had been genuine. But then even Mycroft seemed to be at a loss there. His treatment of Janine certainly suggested that he did have an idea of how these things worked or was at least good at mimicking what he saw in others around him. But then the way he talked about her love for him as human error had made him believe he held no understanding for those kind of feelings and surely saw no point in pursuing anything related to them.

 

"Right, I've had enough. I'm going to sleep tonight. These are random lines from random poems, I will not solve that today and it upsets me slightly." frustration was showing in John's face.

"Take my room, Jonah has spread his work in Emily's. You better not upset his system."

John nodded and trotted to the bedroom. It took him some tossing and turning before he finally slipped off into sleep.

Sherlock wasn't particularly tired but he kind of liked the idea to take his chance and watch John sleep. Ever since that night he had been sitting up with him through that fever, the memory of having John in physical proximity offered much needed relaxation and comfort. He grabbed a journal from a pile next to the couch and carefully slid into his bedroom. John's breathing was even and slow. He placed himself on the other end of the bed, close to the edge as to not wake him. Carefully he turned on the lamp on the nightstand and opened his reading at a random page. It didn't matter, it was more of a stage prob anyway for the case that John would be suddenly waking up. A wave of protectiveness rolled through him when he watched John turn on his back, lips slightly parted trying to free himself from the duvet that had got tangled around his leg. He didn't care what it would take, he would keep this man safe like he had before.

"John?" he whispered as if to test if he was really asleep. He waited for a split second but no reaction came.

"John, I know you have no idea, but you are the centre of my universe. Everything else is just...dressing." He had no idea where those words had come from and he instantly became aware that John would have dispatched them as being overdramatic had he indeed heard him utter them, but it was the most truthful deduction about himself he had ever made.

 

The clatter of dishes and the smell of coffee woke John the next morning from a strange dream. He had been floating in space, surrounded by planets and one of them had looked like Sherlock's face, smiling sadly at him. The melancholic feeling remained even now that he was fully awake.

He was surprised to find the older Holmes in the kitchen, his hands in the sink to his elbows, doing the dishes. He turned when he heard John approach.

"Ah, Dr. Watson. Good morning. My brother strictly forbade me to wake you, but there is some breakfast left over there. " He nodded towards the counter where his mug and a dish of toast were standing.

"Uhm, thank you. Where is he anyway?" John picked up the mug, still puzzled at watching Mycroft indulging in housework.

Mycroft dried his hands on a teatowel and turned towards him, watching him in the usual intent way for a second.

"He and Emily went to the library to pick up some books. She has solved your poem problem as it appears."

"Ah, she did?" He expected Mycroft to frown or roll his eyes at his unimaginative reply, but no such thing happened.

"The titles of those poems are all based around sin and redemption, Sherlock wants to look at some interpretations. I'm sure if you call him he will be happy for you to join him."

"I guess I might do so in a minute." John took his dish to the table, to his surprise Mycroft followed suit.

"Dr. Watson, it was brought to my attention, that I might have you unfairly upon our last encounter." He placed himself opposite John, slightly uneasy, smoothing the surface of the table absentmindedly. John raised an eyebrow in suspicion, not really sure what to expect. 

Mycroft cleared his throat. "I am sorry for speaking to you the way I did. And I feel obliged to thank you for...sticking around despite my brother being a little tedious lately." 

The wording of this apology struck John as slightly off, but then that was probably as far as you could get with a Holmes apologizing.

"Thank you. So, Emily told you about his little fit he had some days ago?"

Mycroft nodded and looked genuinly worried. "Sherli told me this morning himself. I take a lot of hope out of the fact he stayed clean despite..." Mycroft stopped himself and bit his lip. John was curious to know what Sherlock had given as the cause of his breakout, but had a gutt feeling it would complicate the whole situation all over again.

 

Sherlock revelled in the work. He was almost running through the halls of the library, throwing books onto the pile in Emily's hand as he went. There would be a puzzle to decode, a puzzle for John and he would solve it and make up for his behaviour, make those words uttered in anger forgotten. It would bring Mary back and lift that depressed air of John and he would not leave him for good, he would drop by and Sherlock would be fine with that. He was more than determined that he would be fine with that. And after all, his brother was right, determination was all it took in these matters. 

 

Emily was happy to give up her place to John as he entered the reading room. She was anxious to meet Mycroft. Now that he was back, she found being away from him unbearable. They smiled at each other and she hastened towards the door.

 

She shyly knocked at the door of his study and he looked up at her his face a complete display of joy upon recognising her. "Emily." His voice sounded soft, the way he adressed her sent a shiver down her spine. He got out of his chair and cupped her face with his hands, kissing her with his eyes closed. She ran her hands down his arms, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt. He drew her near and locked her in his arms, tangling his fingers in her hair. 

"Do you think we could dare to skip dinner at Baker Street tonight?" He felt her smile against his chest.

"I'm afraid no one will notice our disappearance. Jonah is over the moon with the stuff you brought back and Sherlock is completely out of his mind because he is close to solving Mary's case."

"I'm sorry, I hope you got to sleep at least sometimes." he smiled to himself.

"I have never felt better." she whispered. "What exactly are your alternative plans?"

He took a moment before he answered, relishing in the feeling of her hair between his fingers. "Thought I would take you out, since I never had the chance before..."

"I'd love to."He kissed her hair once more, glimpsing at his desk with unfinished work.

"Anything I can help with?" he blushed around his ears, he had hoped his straying look had gone unnoticed. He covered it up with a little laugh.

"Since you have asked..."

 


	18. Floating in Cotton Candy

Sherlock was beaming with energy. Greg and John could harldy keep up with his pace both in movement and speaking. After the clues of the poems had been puzzled together and linked to he files of Mary's work, the circle of suspects had reduced itself quickly. Sherlock had phoned Mary and talked his findings over with her. John was quite sure, he wasn't given the full story, he only knew the suspect was an ex-boyfriend. Not related to Moriarty as far as they knew so far. It made him uncomfortable, he felt left out. He had always hated when Sherlock left him out and in this case when he was so very much concerned with the whole matter, it infuriated him. He couldn't help but compare the whole thing to when he was left out for two bloody years. At this he could feel his blood boiling over, his jaw began to tense and he grid his teeth to relieve it. 

"Would you please stop being so corruptingly noisy I'm trying to think!" Sherlock swirled around facing John instead of the map on Greg's desk. John looked at him confused. 

"That teeth thing, stop it! Or take it outside if you really have to." Sherlock waved his hand at him already turning back around.

"Sherlock! Mind your manners." Greg tried to stop the unstoppable. John felt sorry for him for a second before rage got the better of him. He could almost feel it spread and creep up his throat.

"Excuse me, would you like me to stop breathing as well? Wouldn't cause any inconvenience, everything for her majesty."He felt like punching him, punch those cheekbones until he would apologize.

"Could you please postpone your domestic for a few hours, we really need to get through this so I can get my men going." Greg raised his voice and gave John a look oscillating between rigour and begging.

"Right." John began fisting his hands to calm himself and approached Sherlock from behind him.

"If we have someone here and here, we will be able to block his way. You and me will be up here, watching the street for our suspect. I assume you have brought your gun?"

"So you want me to come along?" John looked at Sherlock to see if he had noticed the intended sarcasm.

"Of course." He had not. John sighed and accepted his lot, feeling his sanity waning.

"If you want me to come though, I insist to hear the full story now." He manoevered his face into Sherlock's field of vision, bending over the map Sherlock kept staring at. Sherlock first ignored him, then began rolling his eyes.

"Ex lover and agent, found out she got married, late revenge for being dumped. Thought he could terminate your marriage by bringing up her past. Demanded to see her, Mary told him over the phone she would meet him here tonight." He pointed at a building on the map. "Quite lazy planning on his side, he should have noticed by now she isn't in town any more." 

John cleared his throat. "And why the poems?"

"Sentiment. Used to read poetry to her in bed." John felt something blocking his throat again, not anger this time. He tried to swallow it down and closed his eyes for a second to calm their flickering.

"John, you shouldn't ask questions you don't want to hear the answer to. I'd prefer you ask Mary if you feel the need for any more details. I don't want to...interfere." 

 

They had taken their position in a bare brickwork, watching the street beneath. Sherlock had remained silent the entire time, his eyes firmly fixed at a door opposite. John took a breath and broke the silence.

"How will you recognize him?"

"Mary gave a detailed description. A bit dated obviously, but should be sufficient."

"Did she tell you how they met?"

"John!" Sherlock shifted uneasily.

"I know. I just..." he ruffled his hair, stretching his right leg. It had been hurting all day.

Sherlock slowly began to move and turned towards John, though not moving his gaze from the door.

"She loves you. I can tell. Don't get me stuck in the middle."

"I'm sorry. I didn't intend to make you uncomfortable."

"hmm."

"I just somehow wanted your version of things, after all I would expect your view to be more objective."

"No one is ever objective. I'm just as involved as you are." He snorted.

Sherlock inhaled audibly when he saw him and waved towards Greg on the roof opposite them. Police stormed out of the building and John saw the man hit the pavement as he was handcuffed. Sherlock was up and running down the stairs. John tried to keep up. It all happened very quickly. The breaks of the car were shrieking, Sherlock saw it and tried to step back, too late. He was hit as the car came to a halt, the coat swirling as his upper body touched the car's hood. John watched as his body slid down and collapsed in front of the car.

 

He was floating. Somewhere above a read fluffy nothingness he floated like a leaf in the wind, falling once more. But it was a different kind of fallling, much more pleasant. It was slow and the red fog around him seemed to slow him on his way down, as if he was slowly sliding through cotton candy. A very light touch to his hand parted the pleasant clouds, he groaned in protest. As the clouds went, his head began to hurt as if it was about to split. His brain was too big for his skull, it threatened to make it rip at the seams. The pain came in rythmic intervalls, caused by something beeping close to his ears.

"Your resillience towards anesthesia is still impressive the doctor assures me. They needed almost double the usual dose."

"Waking up to your voice, this must be hell." he turned his head with very much effort towards Mycroft, eyes closed but to a slid.

"Being related to you, I have an idea what hell would be like, so no it is not. I'm afraid, again you failed at having yourself killed."

He was wearing a very nice suit and a white shirt. Black coat hanging over a chair, hair exquisitly dressed, new aftershave.

"Sorry I spoiled the evening. What was your plan then? Opera? She must be relieved, she doesn't care for those. Would have gone so not to disappoint you."

"I'll blame your flawed deduction on the anesthesia." He tipped the end of his umbrella against the sole of his shoe. Roughened leather, remains of talkum. Ballroom dancing.

"Oh dear, are you reenacting Jane Austen novels for her now? Dancing...you're not even good at it."

"You have a mild concussion, as you have probably noticed by now, the area of your brain concerned with speech seems not to be damaged, foul mouthed as always. They had to reset your left ankle, some bruises."

"So can you work some magic with that little black card of yours and get me out of here?"

"John insists you should stay here for at least 24 hours." Mycroft tried to reach the dimmer for the light without moving his hand he had been keeping on Sherlock's forehead to shield his eyes from the fierce light of the neon lamp. He managed and Sherlock grunted gratefully.

"John is here?" he tried to clear his voice of any feeling, the pain helped that.

"Outside. Complete mess. Your selfharming will give him a heart attack some day. And me."

He felt his brother smoothing the duvet over his chest and running the back of his hand over his cheek. It was damp with sweat.

 

John felt very much out of place and agitated. Another injury to Sherlock related to him. He was shaking with the effort not to shout and scream. Complete madness. How could Sherlock not have noticed the approaching car. He was Sherlock, he noticed everything.

The private ward of the hospital was very different compared to the ones he was used to working in. No noise in the hallways, no emergencies blocking up the waiting area and he was relatively sure even the nurses looked a little more attractive than on the other side of the glass door. No plastic chairs for waiting but proper chairs. As if it made a difference to those waiting, he huffed. 

The glass doors opened with an almost elegant, gentle sound as Emily entered, a cup in each hand, a folder under her arm. She was barefoot, the noise her heels had produced on the linoleum had bothered her. She must feel out of place even more, he thought. The burgundy dress she was wearing set her in contrast to the hospital surroundings. The hair done up with a single mother of pearl clip, showing of her elegant neck. He noticed his staring only when she smiled at him selfconsciously.

"I managed to get a hold of this." She turned for him to grab the file from under her arm and handed him a cup.

"That's Sherlock's medical report. How did you...."

She took a long sip from her cup looking at him meaningfully.

"Thought you might be interested." 

He nodded and took it to a low table near a window. There were too many pages in this for his taste. Some of the reports brought back memories of their time together as he flipped through them. Poisonings from homemade experiments, several broken bones, he decidedly skipped the report about the bullet wound. Finding that the latest report contained nothing out of the ordinary, rather every-day injuries to Holmesian standards(though the amount of sedatives they had to give him made him swallow hard), he couldn't hold back and looked for any report from their time apart. The report looked differently, it had not been done at a usual hospital. It was pretty much in accordance with what Sherlock had told him that awful night, but it also contained a report by a psychologist diagnosing a trauma and advising further treatment which Sherlock obviously had refused. Stubborn idiot. He flipped his way back through Sherlock's life, glancing at reports about even more broken bones, cuts, poisonings. He stopped when he reached a final report by a rehab centre. Sherlock had been in his early twenties. "Patient is released into the care of his brother, Mycroft Holmes, parents unable to take up post rehabilitation care." John had always wondered where Mycroft's obsession with the wellbeing of his brother, despite their constant fighting, had come from. This explanation was a good as any. Knowing their parents, he had naturally assumed their childhood and youth to have been a happy and carefree one, a parametre he was made to reconsider.

"Nothing to be concerned about, is it?" Emily stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. It woke John from his contemplation.

"No, the usual stuff. He will be out of here in a day or two." he smiled up to her.

"Sorry you had to alter your plans for tonight."

She shrugged. "I have been informed, some of your dates ended in a similar fashion or worse. He told me about the Chinese circus."

"Oh, yah, that was the most extreme case, however."

She placed herself next to him, stretching her legs. "Not your fault."

He turned to fully face her. "I upset him, just before he ran into the car. So not completely guilt free."

She weighed her head. "He's been tense this morning as well. So not completely related. Mary is packing her bags to return some time tomorrow night." She said it in a way clearly meant to cheer him. Oddly it failed to do so.

"Emily, he wants to talk to you." Mycroft stepped out of the room, taking the cup from her hand as she passed him, closing the door.

"A word in your ear, Doctor Watson." Mycroft had a stern look on his face. Some hours ago, John would have decoded it as animosity towards himself, knowing what he did now, it reminded him of a concerned father. He got up and followed Mycroft who was slowly strolling down the hallway, away from the door.

"Our family is in possesion of a cottage in Cornwall which Sherlock is very fond of. I was able to convince him to spend some time up there, once he is released here. Might do him good. Since things have not been easy for you and Mary as well and considering her condition, I was wondering if you would like to join him there. I of course understand if you prefer to return home with your wife right away. Don't feel obliged to accept, I could always ask Jonah, Emily or my parents to have eye on him. I don't think he will need much nursing in a medical sense, I just don't trust him to be on his own with regard to his peculiar moodswings lately."

The idea of returning home built a knot in John's stomach. He had one more week of leave left, he had assumed the case would take much longer to be resolved.

"I would have to talk to Mary about that but I myself would very much like to go."

"Yes, please do so. I would be very much relieved to know you with him."

 


	19. Heartbreak

"How are you?"

He grunted but managed to smile. "Well, in consideration of the circumstances, I probably can't complain."

"Yes, John said if the car had been just slightly faster, we wouldn't be talking now."

"He might be taking it a little too far there."

She pulled a chair up to his bed so that he could see her without having to move his head. She swept a curl from his face and looked at the marks and bruises the concrete had left on it.

"I will be going away for some time."

She ran her finger along his cheekbone very lightly and nodded. 

"Do you think taking him with you will help, however?" She spoke very quietly as if it would take the edge out of the message.

"That was Mycroft's idea. I think he is afraid that sudden withdrawal will push me over the edge."

"Will you be coming back?"

He nodded pressing his lips together. "Just don't know when. I think some things will have to change. Your brother actually gave me an idea. He said I could try to apply for a research post in forensic chemistry or even criminology. Myc promised to talk to Greg if that would help to turn my work with him more "official". After all work is supposed to help with..." he swallowed hard pressing his lips again.

"With heartbreak. Will you tell him? I'm sure he has no idea."

"To what end? He is happy. And he wouldn't understand. It's different from what he has with her."

 

 

Sherlock was always amazed all over again when he drove up the long dwindling pass towards his paternal grandmother's house. You weren't able to sense where her garden began, it blended completely into the rest of the scenery. The trees were old, their bark dark and in some places overgrown by lichen. As a child he had spent much of his time somewhere in their branches, drawing birds and collecting insects, sometimes just sitting and thinking. With every turn of the street, the view into the park changed, presenting ponds and flowerbeds, pavillons and finally the old servant's quarter that had been turned into a small cottage of its own. The main house enthroned over it all, its beige colour melting it into the sky on days of rainy weather.

He had kept to himself the entire drive, only engaging in conversation when John insisted on having a stop to eat. He hadn't eaten, he was thinking. Not the usual kind of thinking, the logical, purpose bound, the one that rewarded you with thrills once you reached some conclusion. It was the kind of thinking he usually avoided, the one that produced black dust if ignored for too long, the one people usually referred to as "dealing with one's feelings".

"This place is rather lovely! Look at all those roses, and oh there is even a well." 

Mary chattered in the usual happy way as she opened the doors of the house and stooped open the shutters. The light streamed in and their movements made the dust dance in its rays.

He grabbed one of the bags from the car and carried it inside, John taking the heavier ones, the boxes he had filled with books and his microscope.

"Isn't that a lot of too much stuff for just one week?" John had asked him when he saw him lining the luggage up in front of Baker Street. He had only smiled at him, trying to hide some melancholic feeling. Mary hadn't commented but placed a kiss on her husband's forehead with rather too much pressure.

John was cheerful, his body moving with confidence, eyes bright and lively.

"Which room would you like me to take these?"

"If you don't mind I'll take the bedroom on the left"

"Of course, it's your house mate!"John heaved another box from the trunk.

"I had no idea your family is that posh." He gave his surroundings an aknowleding look.

"It's just my dad's side. What did you think where Mycroft's attitude came from?"

"Dunno, just thought that was Mycroft putting on a pretentious show." He shrugged and began filling the fridge with food they had brought with them. Sherlock watched all those familiar movements, his fingers flexing around the items, his lips parting when thinking.

"When will you go and say hello to your grandmother?"

"She isn't here, she usually goes round the country visiting friends at this time of year. Maybe she will show up around the weekend."

"Don't stand there Sherlock, it won't do your ankle any good." Mary came up to him and gently pressed him down into one of the kitchen chairs. He obliged without resistance and watched them going around the house, filling it with their possesions and smell. 

John tried to keep Mary from doing too much, giving her belly the tiniest gestures of affection in passing by. They began to involve in conversation, the sort that has no meaning in itself but bonds the interlocutors and reassures the participants of group belonging through social interaction.

He took the stairs. The place had a smell of lavender soap and old, hardly used furniture, a smell that felt reassuring as it connected with the memories of childhood summers, of ice cream and cherished solitude. The room had hardly changed over the years. It had never been furnished solely to be used by him, but over the years more and more of his belongings had found their way in here, filled the sideboards and stayed. His grandfather once had given the walls a peculiar shade of blue, trying to match the colour of a flower, a new breed of bacherlor's button, he and Sherlock had seen at a garden fair in town.The bed was freshly made, the crisp white sheet still stiff to the touch. He put his head down and fell asleep, his mind taking a last escape from the unavoidable, the thinking.

 

Mary silently opened the door and peeked into the room where Sherlocks head lay in heavy contrast to the white pillow sleeping. Even in his sleep the melancholy radiated from him and filled the room. She felt it too, that air of good-bye and she shared his pain, knowing its cause being her existence to some degree. As he lay there, she wondered if he had acted differently that night he urged John to take her back, had she not been pregnant. She couldn't avoid feeling that this was the one argument that both of the men had accepted as the crucial one in her favour. John probably wasn't even aware of it, and it pained her every time he looked at her that it maybe was no longer for herself he felt fond of her but because of the baby.

She went inside, hoping the floor wouldn't creek and placed a sandwich on the nightstand.

 

Sherlock slipped in and out of sleep, always dreamless and heavy. The need for it returned whenever his conscious reminded him of his situation, a voice tellling him that it was time to say good-bye. He accepted it all, let the pain wash through him without fighting it, accepting its coming and going without hope or despair. The tears that rolled down his face, he hardly felt them and was surprised by their existence every time he turned into one of the wet patches they had left on the bed. He was aware of Mary wandering in and out of his room placing cups of tea and food on the nightstand to pick them up again, untouched. They never spoke, even when he was in a halfconscious state, he lacked the energy to react to her adresses. He knew she understood the cause of all this and kept John away from him to spare them both the pain. He felt no anger against her, she was as innocent about all this as John was or he himself. They all had their roles to play in this and there was no refusing.

 

John felt like he had to escape that cottage some time every day, Sherlock's need for sleep worried him to a degree he as unwillling to show off around Mary. So he took himself down the same road every day, through the park, passing the flower beds with yellow roses, up the hill, around the impressive house that lay silent and empty and down the beach. The wind was tearing at him down their as it caught between the dunes but he walked on against it, finding its oppositioon comfortable to lean into. The roaring of the waves surpressed the screeching silence in his head as he marched for hours, just watching the colour of the sky change.The movement covered up something in himself, a feeling of complete despair buried only milimetres under the comfortable feeling of knowing Mary and their daughter safe. He had no idea where it came from nor what it meant but the moment he sat down in the dunes to watch the tide, it conquered him with full force and set him trembling. It wasn't a new feeling, he realized suddenly, the moment it reached his heart and set it pounding. He had felt that way when Sherlock looked at him on the dance floor of his wedding, it had been the same feeling of despair and loss that had only been covered up quickly by the shock of the news of Mary's pregnancy. Had he not been such a controlled man, he would have screamed against the wind.

 


	20. Dinner Party

"I told you not to take my things. Go play with your own stuff."

"I'll tell mummy that you won't share!"

"Fine! I don't care!"

Mycroft sat in his garden in the shade of an apple tree, trying to concentrate on proofreading a speech they had prepared last night. The neighbours' children were having an argument very close to the fence and he couldn't blend out the noise, though he tried very hard.

"If you don't share, I will kick it over the fence and then you can't have it either!" the younger boy threatened his sister.

"You don't dare because I'll tell mummy!"

A rainbow coloured ball came flying over the fence and dropped on his lawn with a muffled thud. 

"Mummey!" the girl whined and started towards the house.

The boy stayed where he was and eyed the ball on Mycroft's lawn. He was about five years old, he wore a blue school uniform sweater and short trousers. Mycroft tried not to move his eyes towards him well aware , the boy was staring at him thinking about how to involve him into conversation.

"What are you doing, Sir?"

"I'm working." He tried to sound dismissive. The boy didn't pick up on the subtlety.

"What do you work?" The figure moved closer to the fence and began to climb up on it so his arms and head rested on the top, still fixating Mycroft.

"Minor..." he stopped himself. "I solve other people's problems."

"I kicked my sister's ball over the fence." the boy stated.

"I noticed. Why?"

"She hates me." Mycroft finally looked up.

"I can't believe that. Why should she hate you?"

"She says I'm annoying because I want to play with her when she is with her friends and she says I'm too small and that I'm stupid."

Mycroft folded the papers on the table and went over to pick up the ball.

"She doesn't mean any of it. Believe me, she likes you very much. Just apologize."

The boy accepted the ball with sticky fingers.

"David, do you always have to start quarrels with your sister? I'm very sorry Mr. Holmes." The mother grabbed the boy around the waist from behind and dragged him off the fence.

"That's quite alright."

She turned, holding the boy by his hand, preaching to him. Mycroft reached for his phone, he suddenly felt the burning need to call Sherlock.

 

John was out on another of his rounds  to escape the cottage when he was surprised by a very elegant car with a driver passing him by and stopping at the main house. A butler hustled down the stairs and towards the car dressed like a butler from a black and white movie. An elderly lady with two little, very noisy dogs got out of the car and handed the butler some bags and a coat. One of the dogs spotted him and came running up to him, barking hysterically. An angry ball of fur and teeth began circling him and snapped for his shoes.

"Honeycomb, behave yourself." The dog did not react in any way to the old lady who now made her way over. Only when she came over and threatened the animal with the pointing end of her umbrella, Honeycomb let go of his victim.

"I'm very sorry Mr. Watson. Long drives just always get him a little overexcited."

John was surprised she knew his name but on second thought, she was related to Sherlock, nothing should surprise him.

"Very nice to meet you."

"I'm so glad you and Sherli are staying here, I always love to have the two of my boys over but both of them, always so very busy." She still fuzzed over the dog which was refusing to being picked up.

"I insist you and him and your surely lovely wive will have to come to my dinner party tomorrow night. Even Mycroft agreed to come."

"Ah, so he is coming here then?"

"At least he promised unless North Korea decides to blow something up or some other atrocity happens again. They always seem to happen when I try to have one of my dinner parties."

John smiled to himself. In his head he saw Mycroft rolling his eyes over dinner with some elderly ladies, desperatly checking his phone for someone to call him away.

"Is Sherlock feeling any better yet?"

"I guess so, he has started working on some experiments this morning."

"That's good." She spoke less agitated now, patting the rioting dog on her arm on the head. "I will send someone down with all the details some time this afternoon."

 

The brothers had started their usual quarreling the moment Mycroft got out of his car. Mary gave Emily a knowing look and they smiled at each other as Mycroft threatened Sherlock to mess up his experiment should he not stop behaving like a child about wearing a tie.

John was nervous, she could tell from the way he tried to put on his tie standing in front of a glass cabinet, the Holmes men blocked both bathrooms getting changed. Emily sat on the couch surpressing her nerves by playing with the tassels on one of the pillows.

"So, do you know anything about tonight? Like who is actually coming?" John looked at Emily through the reflection of the glass doors, opening his tie again."

"Not really, I know one of them from the office, he works, well.. and then there are some neighbours and her best friend with her son and daughter."

"And your brother? Why didn't he come along?"

"Zurich."

"Why are you here? I thought I would get some peace and quiet down here from you, but it seems I would have to vanish from the surface of earth to get rid of you." Sherlock was coming down the stairs, idly adding little jumps between the steps. Mary couldn't help but notice he looked stunning. In dinner jacket and a white shirt he looked as if he had stepped out of some Edwardian painting, the epitome of some young lord getting ready for a ball. She could also not help but notice that her husband reacted in a very similar way to hers to Sherlock's appearance though he tried very hard not to look at that vision beauty. Her heart skipped a beat. Sherlock took no notice of John, eyeing him in the glass reflection still fiddling with his tie.

"Oh, stop it, let me get that." She took the tie from him and turned him towards herself. He avoided her eyes as she adjusted the tie for him.

They were greeted very friendly when they arrived at the fully illuminated house, some cars already parking in front of it. Both Holmes brothers were greeted with a very wet kiss and a hug that lasted, judging from their disformed grimaces too long to be bearbable. The old lady also hugged Emily and shook Mary's hand before vanishing between her guests again. The house was all the outside had promised: chandeliers, white panelling large-sized oil painting. Emily somehow felt lost between all that glamour and people she hardly knew. Mycroft had been dragged away by a young woman with a very loud voice, the moment he had freed himself from the embrace of his grandmother.

"You are very welcome to hide in here with me." She turned when she heard Sherlock's deep voice from an adjacant room. He sat in a chiffon armchair hidden behind a large double wing door. The walls of the room were lined with bookshelves and an enormous fireplace.

"I don't need to hide, nobody knows me anyway." She smiled at him.

"Lucky you." Sherlock slouched, massaging his temples with two fingers.

"Headache?"

"Just too much noise and stupidity in one place. My nan's friend keeps slipping me the phone numbers of very nice young ladies who are very interested in meeting me." He imitated a high female voice.

"Thought she might offer you her daughter."

"Oh, no not me. She was reserved for Mycroft a long time ago."

"My evening just got so much more pleasant."

"Sorry. But don't worry. Qualifies not even as goldfish."

Emily looked at some of the pictures on the mantlepiece. Mycroft and Sherlock were in almost all of them. 

"Where is the picture of your graduation?" she asked pointing to Mycroft in a robe next to his parents and a very grim looking teenage version of Sherlock.

"My existence was silently omitted from the family's chronicle for some years in this house. I didn't make a good motif for pictures back then. On top, my career choices were nothing you could show off with, up to there." He pointed to a framed newspaper article on a bookshelf behind him. John and Sherlock at a press conference, Sherlock suspiciously glancing at the deer stalker in his hands.

"And still you come here?"

He shrugged. "She might be a little too concerned about what people think but she always loved me. She worships Mycroft, but she loves me."

"There you are. Come on, they are moving to the dining room." John's head appeared in the door.


	21. Choosing to Deny the Facts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was the hardest one to write so far. I really feel sorry for John. But it's about to turn better.

John found Sherlock standing on the terrace, the doors towards the garden had been opened after dinner to let in some air. He had apparently taken the opportunity and gone for a cigarette.

"Leaving all this here will be really difficult tomorrow." John stretched and placed himself next to Sherlock, looking into the illuminated garden. Sherlock threw his head back and blew some smoke into the black night sky sprinkled with an abundance of stars.

"I really would like to leave quite early though, have you started packing at all?"

Sherlock extinguished the cigarette and flipped it into the garden. "John, I won't be coming with you."

He couldn't move any more. Adrenalin was rushing through him. He had had a premonition but ignored it to this very point.

"So, you will stay for another week?"

"I don't know yet. There are things I need to sort out for myself."

"Which you can't do in London?"

"John, don't!"

"Don't what?" By now he felt rage building up in him again. And desperation, that horrible feeling of helplessness and desperation.

"John, you know what this is about, you know it, you just don't admit it. You choose to deny the facts."

"So what are the facts according to you?"

"Don't make me spell it out for you!" Sherlock choked.

"Sherlock!" He grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to face him. "You promised. You promised to tell me always! What is wrong!"

Sherlock looked over his head, eyes firmly fixed on some point in the distance.

"I'm in love with you John. Always have been. Not in the way you probably feel about Mary but in love nevertheless. I didn't lie when I said I don't do these things. But my affection for you is the only reason I came back. You are my only reason. I know you don't feel that way and I cherish what we have too much to try and convince you. I'll get over it and we can be friends again, but I need time apart from you and everything connected. I really hope we will be friends again."

The earth began shaking, the walls of the house behind them cracked and crumbled to pieces. The trees in the garden swayed and eventually fell. The floor underneath them opened and swallowed John. He was surrounded by darkness. In John's mind all this happened while he continued to hold Sherlock by the arm, staring at his marvellous face that had never looked more alien to him. The one person he knew the best, whose face he knew every inch of by heart, had just turned into a complete stranger.

"Have you completely lost it? Sherlock, are you high?" He began to shake him, but Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on that point far away.

"Dr. Watson, I think you should come inside." Mycroft had turned up on the patio slowly approaching them.

"Fuck off! This is none of your business!" John hissed, in his head he screamed at the top of his voice.

"Dr. Watson." Mycroft spoke calm but firm.

"I think I really have the right to at least get an explanation!" He still held Sherlock by his arm, hysterically assuming he would end up in smoke once he lost contact.

"Dr. Watson!" he sounded determined now and raised his voice in volume just a bit. "You are needed inside. Your wife needs to go to the hospital, contractions have started!"

 

The moment Sarah Watson was born, her father was a crumbled, crying mess. The nurses tried to calm him and were enchanted by such an emotional reaction to the birth of a child. The doctors gave him a pat on the shoulder ensuring him, others reacted just that way, even professionals like him. And so he sat there in Mary's room, trembling and crying, holding his daughter in his arms.

The moment Sarah Watson was born, Mycroft lifted an old record player onto the roof of his grandmother's house and handed Sherlock a collection of records through the roof hatch.

"Everything still there, I think she never found it." Mycroft huffed as he pulled himself up through the hatch.

"Of course not, I hid it." 

Emily's hand appeared in the opening and they took a bottle of wine and a box of cigarettes from her hands before offering both their hands to pull her up as well.

"So this is not the first time you are up here?

"No, we used to come here to smoke, hence that little storage in the attic." Mycoft opened the box and retrieved a lighter and two cigarettes. "Not sure they still taste well..."

"Really don't care." Sherlock took one of the records from its envelope and blew over it before placing it on the player and carefully putting the needle down.

They lay in silence on their backs side by side for a while watching the nightsky and smoking. Mycroft listened carefully for any change of breathing pattern in his brother, dreading the moment he would begin to cry.

"Won't do you the favour." His voice sounded hoarse nevertheless.

"Of course not. Why should you? What is John Watson in relation to the universe?" Mycroft pointed towards the sky that held more stars than Emily had ever seen.

"Exactly."

"You are both completely insane."

The moon had nearly completed its circle over them when they decided to leave. The recordplayer and the little box were returned to their hiding place, and they made their way to the cottage, taking a detour around the beach. The water lay pitch black in the moment between the sun coming up and the moon setting, murmuring its soothing song. The brothers finished the last sips of wine between them as they passed the white roses that glowed like little light bulbs in the twilight setting in. 

 

"Sherlock?" Mycroft adressed his brother already climbing the stairs to his room."

"hm?"

"Everything is going to be alright."

"She really has washed your brain, romantic git." He managed a little smile.

 

The days passed with them working on experiments and reports and taking long strolls around the area. Sherlock didn't talk much, rarely joined them for meals. His mind had begun its work of cleaning itself up. A task that seemed to bind up most of his energy. He was happy to have them there, just trodding along on their walks through fields glistening golden in the summer sun, giving melodious sounds as the wind went through them. The green of the forest and the cool breeze coming from it, the salty taste in the air, it all calmed his body enough to let his mind fullfill its task.

They sat on a hill overlooking fields that ended in dunes, the ocean melting into the perfectly blue sky at the horizon when he felt his heart beat freely for the first time in days again. He reached for the flask lying next to him in the grass hesistantly, taking a tiny sip of tea, the first to touch his lips in days. The taste spread in his mouth, not causing painful memories this time. He took a deep breath and was satisfied to find his body no longer revolted against it. 

"Mycroft?"

The older Holmes, half asleep in the shade of a tree, lifted his head and looked at him, chewing on a piece of grass. He looked moderatly surprised to be adressed.

"Can I afford a trip to the continent?"

"Financially? Of course. Anything special in mind?"

"Not yet, no." He placed his hands at his lips.

 

Sarah was a baby easy to handle. She didn't cry a lot and if she did, there was a reason. She slept long hours at night and her parents were envied by many other young parents for it. John made sure he didn't leave the surgery too late so he would catch her awake, taking her on walks around the neighbourhood. He frequently met other fathers doing the same and let himself get involved in conversations about her sleeping habits and digestion. He found Mary and her peaceful and happy almost every night he returned from the city, taking that twenty minute ride on the tube. The same trip every day twice. Passing the same houses, greeting the same people, buying lunch at the same shop. The weekends were filled with meetings with friends, dinner invitations and playdates with other babies from their neighbourhood. A normal, happy life, envied by many and if they asked him, he answered that he was indeed happy, content at least, and sometimes he even felt it. The memory of the night Sarah was born was buried deep in him, he never talked about it to anyone. Mary explained, to those who asked her about his hesitation that he was embarrassed by his emotional outburst over his daughter's birth. If she knew what really had been the cause of a good part of his reaction, he had no idea. She sometimes asked if he had spoken to Sherlock and sometimes he lied and told her they had met for coffee in his break. 

Summer was about to end, the first leaves falling when the postcard arrived in the surgery. His first reaction was one of shock, he was afraid it was the return of their blackmailer but then he saw the familiar handwriting and he hurried to his office, locking the door. It was a picture of Paris at night, taken from high up, some rooftop possibly.Taking a second look, he noticed it was a photograph that was glued on cardboard to make it a postcard. He took a breath and turned it over.

 

Dear John,

I once promised to always keep in touch and so I'm sorry it took me so long to send a first message, but I figured you probably aren't that keen on hearing from me anyway. I have decided to go on a trip on the continent for some weeks before taking up some research work at London. Right now I'm in Paris, visiting Bernard. I don't know if you remember him, we once helped him trace down another artist, copying his work. We go around the city, photographing a lot. The front is one of my first attempts and I thought you might like it. I hope you are well and happy, give my love to your daughter and Mary.

 

Forever your friend,

Sherlock

 

Instead of complete shock that he had expected to feel, he felt strange relief building slowly in him. Relief that Sherlock was well, relief that he still existed, relief that the connection hadn't been completely cut for good. So very much relief that Sherlock kept his promise of staying his friend. He pinned the card at the board at his desk, next to a picture of Sarah and Mary taken in the park.

 

From this moment on, the postcards kept coming, the text becoming more detailed, telling stories of trips to acquaintances all over Europe, reminding him of all those cases they had solved together. When a card from Sicily arrived, John found himself daydreaming at his desk. He saw Sherlock standing at a beach, the way he had one day at his grandmother's house. The sun playing in his black hair, smiling at him, gloriously unaware of the effect his appearance had on his surroundings, on him. "John, what are you looking at?" Sherlock threw his head back and smiled again.

"John! There are patients waiting." He started up from his dream. With autumn the annual flu season had begun and he was handing out prescriptions, the same thing over and over again.

 

Mycroft had received only one postcard from Sherlock since he had left about a month ago. It was a selfmade one, a photograph of a nice alley somewhere in Paris, showing the stained fronts of old buildings with flowers hanging from the windows. the text had read: Alive. Stop calling. He took the card to his desk and opened a programme on his laptop. A little green arrow was jumping up and down somewhere in the inner city of Paris. He clicked a button and was presented with the adress of Bernard. He took a notepaper and wrote: I know. GPS. He thought for a moment and then added: We talk about you a lot. Call your mother! Myc. The closest he would ever get to admitting he missed his brother.

 

 

 

 


	22. Late Night Call from Rome

Sherlock's travelling did not follow any plan. He went wherever he liked, sometimes picking his next destination from a travel agent's shop window, sometimes by looking through the newspaper for interesting news. Sometimes it was an invitation by old friends or new ones that decided where to turn next. The morning the first snow fell in London, he stepped out of a train in Rome and was greeted by a very friendly face. Jonah had been attending a conference and agreed to stay some days longer to meet him. He was glad to see a familiar face and the developments at home gave them enough to talk about.

It had taken them a while to find a restaurant in Trastevere they could agree on, both their eating habits being rather peculiar.

"So does she at all stay in Baker Street any more?"

"Of course. She insists she lives there. Your brother hates it. Says it's dangerous to his health having to meet her there." They both giggled.

"How is work going then?" Jonah began picking the tomatoes out of his salad, dumping them on Sherlock's plate.

"Good, I think I have established my thesis and a title for my work. I will send it to London some time next week." He peeled the anchovis out of his anchovis pizza and put them on Jonah's plate in exchange for the tomatoes.

"Are you planning on coming back then?"

Sherlock swallowed a bite of his pizza, having peeled the entire topping of it. "I think so. Christmas would be an appropriate occasion I thought."

"You said you hate Christmas."

"True, but I don't grant Mycroft a Christmas without feeling annoyed by me. Will you still be around by then?"

"God, yes. The work your brother keeps throwing in my way is interesting to say the least."

"Care to update me on what is going on?" Jonah smiled and looked around him before beginning to talk. He wouldn't stop until they were kicked out by the owner who wanted to close the restaurant.

 

They parted in front of Jonah's hotel and Sherlock turned down the street, choosing the long way home. He liked the city for being able to walk almost everywhere. Groups of people passed him, laughing and talking. A young man, obviously drunk came up to him and placed his arms on his shoulders, talking to him. He freed himself from the embrace and nodded friendly to a friend of the man who tried to convince the drunk to follow him home. Passing under a window that was opened he heard someone playing the violin. He stopped to listen and looking up he saw the player, a young woman with closed eyes, playing a piece well practiced. A deep male voice called from the room behind her and she smiled, opening her eyes slowly and placing the instrument behind her. It reminded him of Baker Street and he could almost smell the flat's distinct odour of tobacco and strong tea. The sentiment connected with it made him painfully aware he yearned something that no longer existed. The memory of the sky at night on his grandmother's roof rose slowly in him. Staring into the black, he had felt like the universe began bending itself around him and he had become even more aware of his disconnectedness with the rest of the world.

 

He had closed his eyes just some moments ago slipping silently into bed so not to wake Emily when the alarm of his phone went of. He grabbed it quickly to muffle the sound watching her carefully as she turned but didn't wake.

"Holmes?" he kept his voice low, struggling to leave the room as quietly as possible.

"It's me."

"What happened?"

"Nothing, just thought I'd call you."

"It's two in the morning. Even you know that is not the most convenient time for calls."

"You were sleeping?"

"Not entirely yet. Do get to the point, brother mine."

"How did you do it, I mean how did you get over your resentment towards physical contact?"

Mycroft slid down the wall he had been leaning against in his hallway, running the fingers through his hair.

"I didn't. It's an exception that I..." he sighed. "It depends who it is. If I trust people it becomes easier."

There was no answer from the other side of the line.

"Sherlock, where are you right now?"

"Rome." 

"Yes, well, but where? You didn't do something stupid, did you?" He knew the answer but somehow felt he needed the confirmation.

"Does having myself picked up by a guy I don't know and going home with him qualify as stupid?"

"We both know the answer to that one. Anything...bad happened?"

"No. I left."

"Sherli I'm very sorry. Why anyway?" 

"Everybody seems to do it, seemed liked important data."

Mycroft sighed. He saw right through him but decided to let it go. They exchanged a few more words before Sherlock hung up, claiming he had arrived at his hotel. Mycorft couldn't resist to start his computer and check his position. When he found the green dart jumping over a hotel indeed, he made his way back to his bed.

 

John had made it seem as if he needed some encouragement to accept the invitation to a training course for palliative care in Rome. It somehow felt indecent to leave home without hesitation, though he surely had felt none, frequently taking the postcard showing Sherlock at the Peter's Dome from its hiding place in his desk. He felt something much more like relief when he dragged his bag down the stairs and kissed his family goodbye. And guilt about his relief. Guilt had become a constant in his life for some time now, not only since that last moment on the patio.

His colleague grinned at him when they collected their bags at the airport. The air was humid and held the specific smell of airports that promised adventure and change, for better or worse.

"You look relaxed today. Glad to get out, ey?"

John gave him a stern look and forced the smile out of his own face. They shared a taxi with two other participants they had met on the plane and it was obvious after only a few minutes, that this would not only be about work. John instantly won favour with a slightly younger GP and so they decided they would go out together in the evening, the others quickly joining in.

"Ready?" The young man was just on time and John still tried to find a shirt that wasn't completey crushed in the bag. 

"The others have just decided they want to go some club James has been to before. " John rolled his eyes. He wasn't really into dancing and was sure he would feel very much out of place.

"I don't know if I will stick around for that." He closed the door of his room behind him and followed Matt to the lift.

 

The evening was full of drinking and mayhem. At some point they were asked to leave, Matt had started to sing loudly and included a guest from another table ino his performance against her will. They roamed the streets without a definitive destination, some of them already swaying and talking too loud. John felt dizzy himself but still in control. He watched the others and laughed to himself about their behaviour.

"Now look at this. What is this?" Matt was already slurring when he pointed to an old building, barred with grates. He began climbing over the barriers. John tried to stop him, but the others quickly joined in, the club apparently forgotten.

"Come on, didn't you like do this on a professional basis once?" Matt dropped heavily on the other side of the fence. "Where has your love of adventure gone to Mr. Holmes' sidekick?"

John swallowed hard. "Shut up. What do you know anyway." He wasn't completely sober himself anymore, he only noticed it now that his tongue felt thick when forming words.

"Come on old man!" he teased him. John cursed and gave in. Better not leave him alone, who could know what he would get up to in there. He grabbed the grate and began to climb up. The others had strayed off to look for a place to enter more easily accessible. He climbed over the top and landed on his feet on the other side, seeing Matt disappear in the dark. For a moment he thought he saw a coat swirl as he turned around the corner. Definetely drunk. He tried to catch up with Matt who was now running through the ruin of an old villa. 

"Just wait!" They had reached an artrium when Matt stopped.

"Did you hear that?" he lifted his hand and pointed towards the way they had come. His hand was shaking a little. John heard it, it sounded like steps of someone coming towards them. 

"That'll be the others. Hey, we're over here!" he shouted.

"Polizia!"

"Run!" He grabbed Matt's arm and started into the other direction. When they reached a door leading into a small room, he pulled him in and placed his hand over his mouth. He listened for any steps outside, trying to calm his breath. It felt all so horribly familiar. He looked at Matt who was still breathing heavily against his hand. They heard the two men approaching and talking, when they passed the door, John held his breath and pressed Matt even more into the wall. Matt turned his eyes towards him and he felt him smile under his hand. When the echo of their steps bated, he released Matt from his grip and leaned against the wall himself, trying to steady his nerves. He remembered moments like this and he believed to hear Sherlock's laugh rumbling next to him. He believed he could feel his coat touching his hand, he believed to see his eyes wrinkled by a smile. He believed to feel the need to take Sherlock's hand, to assure himself of his existence and well-being. "I'm in love with you, always have been." he had said to him. That changed the parametre on every memory he had of their time together, changed the parametre on every what if scenario. He wouldn't have refused had he ever given into the impulse to take his hand. John couldn't hold back a curse. 

"Coming back to the hotel with me?" Matt gave him a wide grin.

"Not tired."

"Neither am I." Matt cocked his head slightly.

"Actually I think I have to go somewhere." He hurried outside, only understanding what had happened just now when he climed over the fence once more.


	23. The Aftermath of Flirting

 

He had no idea where he was, the streets all looked the same. He kept walking and turning without getting anywhere he recognized. But then he didn't really know where he wanted to go anyway. He reached for the postcard that was slightly worn by now, he kept it in the inside pocket of his jacket most of the time. It wasn't true that he didn't know where he wanted to go, he just didn't know where that was. Where he was. For a second he pondered to call Mycroft and simply ask for his adress, but then he remembered their last encounter and shame about what he had said to him made any attempt in that direction impossible. He had written that he would meet Jonah here, but again he was sure that the young man would not give away Sherlock's adress without explicit permission. If Jonah had been here before Sherlock, there must have been a reason for him to come here. John found a park bench and started a search on his phone with Jonah's name. It didn't take him long to find an article about the conferencehe had been speaking at and to find the location it was held at. It was the conference room of a hotel, so chances were good Jonah was staying there. If he turned up there in person, chances of being refused Sherlock's adress were slightly smaller, especially if he turned up in the middle of the night. Some part of his brain tried to tell him that this was madness, that alcohol and confusion drove him into this but he ignored the voice of reason and typed the adress into the navigation system.

 

Jonah had offered to read through his script and Sherlock had been happy to share his work with someone finding it hard to work without anyone he could talk to, explain and present his findings to. Jonah's room was less spacious than Sherlock's and the air was filled with dust from the air conditioning. After only two days, the entire room was clattered in paper and clothes.Sherlock had found himself a place on the small couch and watched Jonah read with concentration.

"That sounds really good. Not that I understand a lot of it, but the parts I get seem very well structured and logical."

"Thank you." Sherlock really meant it and Jonah aknowledged it with a slight nod.

"Listen, there is a short meeting about tomorrow I have to attend tonight, I hope I'm back in an hour or so. If you want to, you can wait here and we can talk through this a little more in detail when I'm back." Jonah reached for his jacket. "I can leave the keys with you if you let me in."

Sherlock was grateful he wouldn't have to return to his own room just yet. Last night's experiment made him uncomfortable on his own and talking to Jonah calmed him a bit as it gave him a feeling of home.

It was almost midnight when Sherlock was called back from his mind palace by a knock on the door. He jumped from his place on the floor where he had been lying and reached for the doorknob, already talking as he opened it.

"What took you so long? I was about to go and look for you." The sound froze in his throat and his breathing stopped when he opened the door and actually paid attention to who was standing behind it.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock quickly collected the informtion available by John's appearance. He had been walking, possibly running, hard to tell without any information about his current state of training. He had drunk but not enough to excuse this visit entirely with it. The last days, possibly weeks had been taxing, the strain showing in his face. He hadn't expected to find him here,obviously, and that he did, caused him very mixed feelings. The difficult process running in his mind stopped his ability to react appropriately to the situation before him.

"Why?" was all he uttered after a pause slightly too long to appear natural. 

John seemed to have a similar problem, he didn't react confused or annoyed at Sherlock's eaction to his visit but began rummaging in the inside pocket of his jacket, producing the postcard, Sherlock had sent him a week ago.

"I was in the area and thought I drop by."

They stared at each other before bursting into laughter. Sherlock hesitated a moment before stepping aside and offering John to come in. John needed no more than two long steps before standing in the middle of the room, looking for clues.

It's Jonah's room. I was just waiting for him here." Sherlock bit his lip, not really sure why he was explaining himself. John didn't react but picked up the draft of Sherlock's work from the desk, looking at the title page, then carefully replacing it.

"Thank you for your postcards. I was glad to know where you are."John spoke silently and Sherlock stared at his back unable to answer.

"I was glad to know you were well, or better. You are, right?" John turned towards Sherlock who avoided him by staring at his feet. 

"Sherlock talk to me! You owe me that at least."

"What exactly indebts me to you? I left so you could go on with your life, the life you chose and somehow you hold me responsible for it." He didn't let his anger show in his voice. He had left the country to avoid this conversation and then John showed up in the middle of the night, demanding an explanation of the inexplicable.

"You can't just tell me something like that and then leave the country. Without a chance to answer to it."

"You repeatedly stated your opinion on the matter and you are married. From my point of view there weren't any clarification needed."

"It's not that simple."

"Care to explain?" Sherlock began to feel exhausted and trapped. He found himself checking his possibilities of escape.

"I had a strange evening." John shifted some of the paper that had been lying in the only armchair in the room and placed himself in it, not taking his eyes from Sherlock. "I was out with some other colleagues I met at the course. We broke into a deserted building. When Matt and I ran from the police, I suddenly had the feeling I had seen you, felt you next to me and it gave me a feeling I can't really explain. He..." John rubbed his face with his hands, but Sherlock could tell where this story was heading. His mind was spinning, giving him nausea.

"He flirted with you." John looked at him with admiration that quickly was stained with slight annoyance.

"Yes, I guess so, yes."

"And because some guy flirted with you, you thought you could just turn up and see if my offer still stands?"

"No. No! You are deliberatly trying to make this hard for me don't you? Sherlock, I was about to say that I suddenly realized that there is no point in denying that our relationship was slightly more than just friends. That I felt about you a similar way you seem to feel about me and that I hate myself for denying it for so long."

"Why did you do it then?"

"Because you are an annoying idiot who makes my life difficult on purpose and because I'm not into men."

"Well, if you are not why are you here then?"

"Because I realized I can't be without you. Being away from you drains the life out of me somehow."

"Can we talk about this again tomorrow, I think you are more drunk than you care to admit." He tried so hard to sound dismissively but failed somewhere midsentence, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Sherlock, this is not some drunken fantasy, being slightly drunk just gave me the courage to to say this for f..." he swallowed the curse and hid his face in his hands. Sherlock looked at him, trying to define the waves of feeling rolling through him, in vain.

"John." He never got further, his voice broke and he had to grab the table behind him to keep himself from falling.

"I have no idea what to do about this." He pressed the words through his teeth trying hard to keep himself upright. John lifted his face from his hands and looked at him with the same sense of confusion.

"Me neither."


	24. Unfinished business

When Jonah returned to his room, Sherlock was eager to talk, so much even he forgot to comment on his being late. It was something he had never seen in him before. It was also confusing to find him beating around the bush, something he ususally hated in other people and punished with unflattering deductions and insults. The real topic broke out of him in the middle of a speech about the next chapter of his work.

"John was here just now."

Jonah looked at him in disbelief.

"He tracked me down because I told him I would be meeting you here."

Jonah bit his tongue so not to comment. This was dangerous terrain since last night. He had an idea what had been going on the night before when Sherlock got "distracted" but they had never talked about the exact nature and consequences of the experience. He looked at Sherlock, who was shaking with nervous energy and waited for any further explanation.

"He was tipsy and told me he missed me."

"What did you say?"

"Told him to go home, that we would meet tomorrow night."

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"I can't make out any risk in the meeting. I'm going to listen to what he has to say, it's not like anything has to change just because I talk to him."

"To me that sounds very much like one of those conversations that are bound to change everything no matter what the outcome. Adressing topics like that usually comes close to a speech act, I mean the said is seen as an offer of a contract of sorts. Once he tells you he wants to be with you, he will expect you to react accordingly. I'm not sure you are up to that, which he would interpret as breach of agreement from your side."

Sherlock looked at him with pain in his eyes. He could tell he had held a similar interpretation of his situation but had hoped Jonah would offer a more comforting one.

"I'm not saying don't do it, I'm saying watch your step. You really have to make sure you are on the same page this time. Even if it is just to avoid repetition of last night."

 

The halls were crowded with people who filled the air with their noise and smell, the meeting would be of utmost importance and so he had been unable to avoid it. Mycroft hated it. He hated crowds, they were so hard to calculate and he was not up to it today. The conversation with Sherlock had reminded him of his own unfinished business. One of these days he would have to face the panic that rose in him whenever he became aware of the vulnerability his attachment to Emily had given him. It had been a close call the other night when a simple kiss had almost sent him into a full blown panic attack. The closeness caused him to think about what could happen if he lost her and loss of people was just too common an occurence in his life. On top of it, any closeness would mean the loss of control and there was nothing he feared more than other people having control over him. He secretly admired his brother who was so willing to attach to others avoiding only the physical side of things and apparently still yearning it sometimes. 

He chose his chair in the stuffed room with care. It was close to the door and in an angle where he could see Emily by only slightly turning his head just in case he needed to communicate. They had put a lot of effort into developing a secret system of signs for situations like this. She sat in the second row of chairs crammed in against the wall, looking around her attentively. He loved the way her neck bent between the collar of her shirt and the hair done up, as to reveal its full beauty. The bow of her lips and the way they moved when she smiled at her neighbour adressing her made him want to touch them, run his fingers along them. 

"Mr. Holmes, it might be time to start." His supervisor had taken her seat next to him and he nodded at her. Getting up from his chair, he asked for silence which he was granted once the first syllable floated in the air and began his speech.

 

She struggled to keep up with him when he left the room. She tried to sneak by all those groups of people that blocked the way standing together and talking. Walking just behind him had the great advantgage of not having to sneak, as people usually moved voluntarily once they saw him approach. She closed the gap only when he was about to enter his office, not stopping when his secretary adressed him. They exchanged glances when Emily passed her desk. She dropped the documents at the table and asked her to not put through anyone for half an hour. She found him lying on the couch in the corner, shoes removed and panting. She knew there was no point in adressing it directly until he did, so making conversation and ignoring the obvious it was.

"That went very well. The delegation was very pleased with the contract you designed. Ms Yang told me to give you her compliments." She felt completely odd to not touch him or at least to enquire about his state. He nodded and moved the arm he had folded over his face to look at her.

"I'm sorry. Just too many people. I don't want to make you uncomfortable so if you want to go down for lunch with the others, please do so."

"I won't unless you ask me to leave you alone." He kept looking at her as if he was waiting for something to show in her face.

"Do you want me to go?" She tried to sound cheerful and to hold his continued stare. She knew he tried to figure out what was behind her offer to stay and to some degree it hurt her that he would think she was pretending. One of the wrinkles on his forehead dissolved itself and was replaced by another, once he had figured her out.

"If you would just talk to me instead of deducing, things would just be handled so much more efficient." She couldn't hide her worry any more and she knew the wording of her request would not miss its aim.

He lifted his upper body from the couch, breathing still unregularly.

"Why? it's illogical." She knew he was not referring to her last utterance.

"Because I care about you, for goodness sake." She poured water into a glass on his desk and stepped closer, handing it to him. He choked as his forced breathing interfered with the swallowing and she took the glass back.

"Complete lunacy." he coughed, but held out a hand in her direction. She took it and kneeling down placed his head on her shoulder, running three fingers down his spine and up again. He moved closer and slowly his breathing began to even itself out.

 

It had already turned dark when they entered the entrance hall. Mycroft exchanged some pleasantries with the man at the reception as he signed for documents he would be taking home with him. The meeting over, he would be able to work from home for a few days. The darkness facilitated it for him to notice the sudden burst of light, a split second before the numbing sound. Then there was dust and screaming and the sound of creaching metal everywhere. Coming back to his senses he realized he was crouching behind the reception desk holding Emily by her shirt's collar. people around them where screaming and some of them seemed to be hurt, holding their limbs and heads, all covered in dust. They carefully got up and looked around. the bomb had exploded somewhere close to te entrance, not big enough to completely destroy the building, but the security gate at the entrance was blown away. The man at the gate looked shocked but not hurt. People began icking themselves up and tried to hurry towards the exit. They were hurried along in the mass of people moving all at once. Emily tightened her grip of his hand and pulled him towards the exit trying not to lose him. 

Once outside they heard the siren of police arriving. Mycroft began cleaning the dust out of his coat. 

"You're okay?"

"What was that?"

"Looks like a letter bomb to me. I wonder why the police even bothers coming here, they will be stopped in a few minutes anyway." He began cleaning her hair by ruffling through it with his fingers. "Come on, let's go." 

"Shouldn't we wait to give some kind of testimony?"

"As I said, waste of time, it will be dealt with internally anyway."

"So does this happen frequently?"

"No, I only saw it once before." She shook her head at the calmness he treated the whole incident with. 

"And you called me a lunatic."

"Let's agree we both are." He turned, smiled at her and pressed her hand and she returned the gesture. 

 


	25. Hadrian's Villa

John couldn't follow any of the speeches he was hearing that day. He had a headache, was sleep deprived and most of all tense about meeting Sherlock again. He had left his watch in his room when he noticed himself looking at it every two minutes. The passing of the time was almost painful. Fragments of speech were floating in his dizzy head, parts of what he had said last night, parts of things he would have liked to say, things he meant to say once he would see him again. There basically were two things that needed to be decided and conveyed. He wanted Sherlock to believe what he had said last night and he needed to tell him how he felt about his wife. And this was the real problem, he didn't know how he felt about Mary. He had nothing to hold against her, she had never treated him badly but when she forgot to mention that little detail about her past, of being a killer. Since then she had been kind and loving and forgiving to a point that made John hate her because it would have been so much easier if he had a reason to hate her, to choose to leave her behind. He had to admit to himself that a decision had been made the moment he typed the address of the hotel into the navigator of his phone. The decision to leave his family and resume his absurd life at Baker Street. Making the decision was not the hard part in this, it was going through with it and putting it into action that seemed more than he could bear at the moment. On top he wasn't completely sure he knew Sherlock still wanted him to make such a decision. The man had changed in only those few weeks he had spent away from Baker Street. he seemed reserved and introverted, unwilling to share thought or discuss decisions. He had also taken to establishing a new life for himself, one that did not depend on John's presence, one that to some point excluded him. He had done what John had been forced to do back then when Sherlock jumped and there was no way he could know if Sherlock would choose him over his new life.

 

Sherlock woke and tried to remember where he was. It took him some time before he noticed he had fallen asleep in Jonah's bed during their conversation. He frowned at himself, sleeping was becoming a bad habit of his.He reached for his forehead and found a sticky note attached. "Had to leave, all the best for tonight, call me!" He collected his shoes from one corner of the room and got ready to leave. The heat was already building in the streets and tourists began clotting the street in noisy groups. When he passed the window of a dressmaker he couldn't resist and opened the door that welcomed him with a melodious ring from the bell above the door. He politely smiled at the elderly man than hussled in from the backroom to greet him. In the end he settled for a shirt in a very dark green and black buttons. It was wrapped in paper and carefully placed in a box for him to carry it home. For some reason he wasn't all too nervous about the meeting with John, whatever the outcome, he couldn't feel worse than he had the last couple of months. Knowing John he knew he couldn't expect any groundbreaking announcements, he would take back what he said the night before, blaming it on his state of mind. Sherlock would accept it and go on with his life, but he decided to give John a hard time about it, looking better than he ever had, behaving better than he ever had, being more agreeable than he ever had. The thought made him aware oft the stubble on his face and so he stepped into the next barber shop.

 

He was there before him. John was surprised. Sherlock was never on time, but tonight he was. He stood with his back towards an illuminated fountain, fiddling with his phone, avoiding a group of Japanese students trying to get his attention. John was stunned by the sight and surprised at how much he was so by a man. He hesitated a moment longer before approaching, suddenly afraid this could be the last time he was allowed to look at him, to be with him. Sherlock dropped the phone into his pocket the moment he became aware of him and gave him a smile. He didn't wait for him to actually catch up with him before he turned and started to walk across the piazza.

"How was your course today?"

"Didn't really follow, but I assume if I had it would have been good."

"Never thought of you to be such an inattentive student." He winked at him and John's heart jumped up his throat, beating violently.

"Where are we going?"

"Someone has told me you have taken a liking to old buildings and I think I found just the kind of place you would like." He kept up the speed as they turned around another corner and into a street that slowly wound up a hill, out of the town.

"My legs are half the length of yours, could you please slow down or are we in a hurry?" John suspected Sherlock kept him walking at this speed to minimize his breath left for conversation, but much to his surprise Sherlock obliged and stopped. They looked over the city that lay beneath them. 

"This never ceases to amaze me. The city is made up of so many pieces, hundreds of years apart, one built over the other, but nevertheless it all fits together the old and the new, it's just mingled together by human life." John felt he was asked upon to give an dismissive comment on so much sentiment but refused and kept his silence. The streets beneath were glowing with yellow, orange and blue lights from cars and illuminated buildings, the day fading in multiple shades of red over the roofs. The sound of grasshoppers and motorcycles were mixed beautifully and muffled by the distance they had reached to it.

"Almost there." Sherlock turned and started to walk again.

 

They stood in the middle of the ruins of the Hadrian Villa, the sun was just about to set over the ruins and pieces of park in front of them. Sherlock turned around a wall and miracously produced an old backpack and a blanket. John couldn't help but laugh amazed. Sherlock tried to hide his satisfaction about the reaction. They sat next to each other in silence for a while, Sherlock placing trays of cake and sandwiches in front of John and finally a flask of tea. John watched him and felt guilt rise again. This wasn't right, he wasn't supposed to feel this way and he shouldn't be here but for a long time nothing had felt so right aas sitting here, watching the sun set over Rome with Sherlock.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"can we talk about this like grown ups, shall we?"

"I said what I had to say on the matter, you can say whatever you feel is needed."

John straightened his back watching Sherlock running his fingers around the rim of a glass that had contained tiramisu, he was not looking up.

"I meant what I said last night. My connection with you has always been more than friendship. I just couldn't get myself to admit it. It's just that things aren't that easy any more." He noticed he was holding on to his own hand and let go selfconsciously. Sherlock didn't react in any noticeable way, still trying to get to the very last bits of tiramisu but John knew him well enough to know he was listening carefully.

"There is nothing I want more than come back and have what I used to have, my life with you I mean. The boredom with what I got now is killing me bit by bit. I didn't notice until you sent that postcard." He cleared his throat and stared at the magnificent scenery in front of him. Sherlock finally let go of the glass and watched the sun set as well.

"John, I won't ask you to come back. You know I want you to, but this time it will have to be your decision and your's alone. There is little I can bring forward as an argument for your return. It will get messy, it won't get better than before and I very much understand if you won't put up with me again, I have behaved inconsiderate to say the least. I can only repeat my promise, I will be there and try to keep you save. I always just wanted the best for you, and I'm very sorry I miscalculated."

"I want to come back. I just don't know how. I'm not sure I can do this."

"You are my John, you can do nearly everything." John laughed out loud, it held back a sob.

"And what makes you so sure of that?"

"I've known you for a while now. You were injured, you got over it. You put up with me and saw me through 

some horrible moods and messes and stayed cheerful through most of it. You saw me die and come back and you forgave me. You were there when I died again when Mary shot me and you stayed and forgave her. I don't think there are many people who would have managed all that without being corrupted."

"So will you wait for me to sort all this out?" Sherlock looked at him and nodded.

"My John, that's hilarious." John giggled and boxed Sherlock's leg who caught his hand as it hit him and held on to the trembling fist.


	26. The Pond Incident

Mycroft felt lost. The room he kept his memories of Emily in was barred by people in huge crowds talking and shouting. He tried to raise his voice above them but no one seemed to hear him. He shouted at the top of his voice, demanded them to go away, but only one of them turned around. He knew the face but it took him a moment to find the connected information. It was a classmate, Paul. They once had shared a room. 

"Oh, haven't seen you in a while."

"What is going on here?"

"I think you are connecting your absurd fear about your relationship with that woman with your fear of groups of people and your fear of me."

"Yes, thank you I wasn't looking for an analysis of my psyche, I was trying to find out how to get in there."

His classmate smiled. "That won't happen, I told them not to let you in."

"Why?"

"I always liked to tease you. You remember don't you? The time I locked you in our room and you were late for class. Perfect Mycroft late for class. And then there was that whole story with your little brother you used to fuzz about so much."

Out of a sudden Mycroft found himself standing on his parents' lawn looking at himself at about eighteen. Paul was there and some other boys, he remembered exactly, it was the last week of the summer break. Even though they stayed at his house, he had always felt excluded. Even now he saw himself standing at some distance to the group as they joked and planned new pranks to play on teachers and classmates, sharing cigarettes.

"Myc, what are you doing?" Sherlock's head appeared looking down from the treehouse above their heads. Mycroft noticed now, looking at the scene how overcredulous his little brother sounded.

"God, isn't it time for him to be in bed or something?" Paul rolled his eyes and gave Myroft a stern look.

"I'm on vacation too, I can stay up as long as Mycroft. And mummy said you aren't allowed to smoke!"

"Can't make you that annoying baby shut up?"

"I'm not a baby! And Brian too thinks you are annoying. He always rolls his eyes when you talk about that girlfriend that you invented."

Brian and some other boys began to chuckle.

"Shut up, she is not invented, I met her at a photoshoot she was taking for my dad's company."

"Your dad's company doesn't do photoshoots any more, they went bankrupt, that's why you will leave school at the end of term, your parents can't afford it and your grades aren't good enough for a scholarship." Sherlock turned and searched for the ladder with his feet, for a moment hanging in the air. Paul was furious, his face was blushed and sweaty. Mycroft could see what was about to happen. 

"Sherlock, just shut up and go inside." He tried to get him out of the way. He knew what happened once Paul felt insulted.

"I'll teach him to tell such lies about me!" Paul grabbed Sherlock's leg and pulled him down. The boy gasped surprised and cried out for Mycroft. He didn't move. He couldn't. He knew if he came to help his brother now, he would be left out for the rest of his time at school. It was his final year and he was determined to spend it in the most normal way possible. He would not miss out on all the fun because his brother had proven once more unable to keep his mouth shut. Paul grabbed Sherlock by his hair and dragged him towards the pond. The boy was squirming and screaming for Mycroft. He finally couldn't stand it any more.

"Let him go." He tried to sound calm, but fear was boiling in him. It was too late. Paul had grabbed Sherlock around his waist and threw him into the pond.

"Fuck, he can't swim!" Mycroft began to run, Brian followed him. They waded into the water and grabbed whatever part of Sherlock they got hold of and dragged the struggling boy out. He was throwing up dirty pond water and coughing as it got into his lungs. Mycroft wished he could go over and shake his younger self for what was about to happen. He took Sherlock's hand and pulled him into the house, made him take a shower. Some hours later the boy's face was glowing with fever, he had trouble breathing. Mycroft didn't call a doctor or his parents, it would have meant they would find out he had friends over without their permission. He had risked Sherlock's health to avoid being in trouble. It would take Sherlock weeks to get over the infection the muddy water had caused in his lungs. His brother had not telltaled but come up with a story about being kidnapped by pirates and having fallen into the sea when he managed to escape. His mother had been furious and threatened both the boys with various things to come up with the truth, but Sherlock had stuck with his version. 

The worst thing had been Sherlock's silence towards him. He was deeply hurt and things changed from there. Sherlock no longer followed him around wherever he went and started to oppose him whenever possible. Mycroft couldn't blame him, he had betrayed him in the worst way possible. 

When he woke he was covered in cold sweat and tangled in the sheet on Emily's bed at Baker Street. He tried to get up without waking her up and struggled down the stairs to take a shower. The whole place smelled of his brother, right now that made him almost throw up. He really deserved to be outcast from human kind for everything he had done to his brother who had trusted him. There was no way in hell Emily would tolerate him even in the same room once she found out about his dark side. For some reason she insisted on seeing him as a nice person. He almost collapsed in the shower. There were two ways he could go from here. Either he indulged in this illusion some longer and prepared himself for the blow once she found out the truth about him or he ended the whole thing right here on the spot and freed himself of the obligation. He would have to let her down gently and he would have to find a way to seperate her from himself at work. His mind was running over a list of people she might get interested in, if he managed to set her up with someone else, she might get out of this relatively unharmed. He rested his forehead against the tiles in the shower and cried.

 

Once the sun was gone, the air cooled down very quickly. Sherlock noticed that John began drawing his jumper closer around himself. He fought an instinct to place his arm around his shoulders. He was at a complete loss what exactly was appropriate in the situation they found themselves in. The cold facts were that they had admitted to their feelings for each other and had been silently holding hands for the better half of an hour but that left them somewhere in social wasteland with John technically being married and him technically not really interested in any physical involvement, though he found their hands touching to be less uncomfortable than he had it imagined it to be. But then he had always envisioned the moment of revelation of feelings between them to be one of absolute bliss, but nothing the like was the case. His inside was burning with fear and worry as the situation had just complicated so considerably.

"Time to go I think." Sherlock tried to lift himself to his feet.

"No." John tightened his grip around his fingers and pulled him back down. Sherlock obeyed and resumed his place next to John on the blanket.

"You are cold and they will lock the area off in a few minutes."

"I don't care. For once in my life I decide not to care!"

Sherlock furrowed his brows but obeyed and remained next to him responding to the increased pressure on his fingers by running light circles on the back of John's hand.

"Sherlock kiss me." 

"What?"

"Just kiss me. I don't want to go home and face the mess my life has become without having at least a good reason for feeling guilty towards her. I would say shag me, but I don't do that on first dates."

"Liar."

Sherlock felt the life draining out of him, unable to move. Eventually he leaned over and placed his lips on John's without moving them, just held them there. John buried his hand in Sherlock's curls and pressed his face to his. John's lips were all he had ever imagined, warm and dry.

 

There was a knock at the door.

"You have been in there for more than an hour now, even for Holmesian standards, that's a long shower."

Mycroft turned the water off. She was right, but he dreaded going out. He felt trapped. it wasn't only his dream that unsettled him and the thoughts it had triggered, but the fact that she had seen what had happened to him at the office. He somehow felt like he needed to explain to regain some kind of control over the whole situation. 

He grabbed a towel that looked like it had not been abused for any experiments lately and opened the door exhaling audibly.

"I know you won't answer so I just tell you what I believe to know about this whole...whatever this is." He dropped his head. There was no chance he would get away with hiding anything.

"Apparently you have a problem with crowds and they cause you panic attacks. However, not always, only if you feel responsible for what is going on." She watched him closely. "For some reason you don't want me to know about it, you keep trying to hide it. Which is, considering we work together and mostly sleep in the same bed, preposterous to say the least. You avoid contact in general, especially when it involves emotional involvement as well. That's why you spend so much time in the shower lately, I think you are hiding attacks in there as well."She grabbed a dressing gown that had been lying over the back of John's armchair and threw it at him. He slowly got dressed.

"About right?"

"I created a monster."

"Don't praise yourself. It's obvious as daylight. Would you like to participate in this conversation in some way or do you want me to go on?" He could tell she was annoyed because she was worried. He dropped in a chair looking at her. 

"Right, with the cause of it I'm a bit at a loss. Since you track your brother on GPS and keep a diary on your days that is ridicously detailed, I think it's something about control. That would explain part of it, but since you got in a habit of almost scrubbing the skin off yourself whenever it happened, guilt is in there as well but I can't tell why."

"You are worried about me."

"Now that is the deduction of the century. Yes, of course I am. And also that I have done something wrong that you shy away like this."

"You haven't. I'm just a horrible person."

"Talk to me or I'll make sure your brother finds a case waiting for him in his living room on his return."Mycroft slouched in the chair letting himself glide into it deeper while holding on to the gown.

"I just don't see why you put up with me and there will be a moment you won't any more. I'm no longer sure I will survive this and so I tried to get not involved too much."

"What! Have! You! Done? Killed someone? Cheated on me? What makes you such a horrible person?"

Mycroft swallowed hard before he began to talk. "I'm selfish and I will risk the wellbeing of others for my own if neccessary. I once almost killed my brother."

"Is this about him going undercover or is this about the pond?" Her voice had calmed and she put herself opposite him, imitating his slouched posture.

"You know about this?" Mycroft was startled.

"Must have been about the first thing Sherlock told me about you. Myc, that was years ago. Even Sherlock doesn't seem to mind any more."

His face didn't move. He kept staring at her, waiting for anything to happen in her face he could interpret contrary to her statements. He just saw her level of annoyance drop as worry seemed to get the better of her.

"Listen, when that letter bomb exploded in the entrance hall you pulled me down so I wouldn't get hurt. What benefit did you have from it? None. Still you did it. Why do you insist that you don't do anything for others? You care for people, especially for your brother."

"Darling, I can only repeat myself, you are a complete lunatic if you stick with me." Finally her face wavered back to something he recognized, the happy and confident version of herself. 

"I will stay with you as long as you let me. What do I have to do to convince you of it?"

He shrugged and looked at her amused. "I don't know. Marry me?"

 

The text arrived early in the morning, Mycroft was trying to find a hygenic mug to pour his tea into. 

 

I met John. Kissed him ast night. SH

 

Mycroft blinked. One night away from his computer and surveillance system and his brother managed to surprise him to an undecent degree.

 

And he throttled you for it? MH

 

No. SH

 

Care to elaborate? MH

 

No. SH

 

Will he need his room back? MH

 

Eventually. But not in the near future. SH

 

He put the phone down and stirred the mug absentmindedly. He wondered if there was any point in telling Sherlock about what had happened to him last night. He somehow was itching to share the news with someone.

 

I asked Emily to marry me last night. MH

 

The answer took longer than the ones before.

 

I will not do the speech. Under no circumstances will I do the speech! SH

 

She said that this was the worst proposal in the history of mankind and that I should ask again "properly". What is that even supposed to mean? MH

 

That she is probably just playing for time to plan her escape. SH

 

You are not as amusing as you think yourself to be. MH

 

My John believes me to be very amusing indeed. SH

 

Your John? Blimey...legally he is Mary's John, try not to forget that too easily. MH

 

touché SH

 

He sipped his tea and then followed his reflex to call Sherlock. He seemed in a good mood, so he better used the moment. The call was picked up immediatly.

"What?"

"Did you tell her about the pond?"

"Of course. She needed to know that you are an idiot."

"Sherlock, I know I am. That was horrible of me."

"Can I have that in writing please? You apologizing..."

There was a silence in the line.

"After all I think you paid your debt in the years to come. I know I wasn't exactly easy to handle. And you stuck with me, which most didn't, not even mummy and dad."

"She was just at her wit's end. She really tried."

"I know. So I think we are even. Do you want me to give you John's number? He will be of more help to you with regard to Emily."

"I have his number, brother dear."

"Then call him. Or stop moaning." The call was disconnected and Mycroft smiled to himself. 

 

John felt like a void vessel when he arrived at the airport. By the time Sherlock and he had parted in front of his hotel, it had been the early hours of the morning. Remembering how they stood at the street corner, trying to break the conversation but both unable to find an end, he felt goose bumps spreading over him. Sherlock's hand had traced the outline of his shoulders several times through his jacket, he still felt his fingers running over him. He couldn't help but run his fingers over his lips and smile slightly demented at the people passing by. He, John Hamish Watson had flown to Rome and kissed Sherlock Holmes. Whatever life would throw at him from this point onwards, he would face it and not be surprised by anything. And so John was only mildly surprised to find a black car waiting for him at the exit. 


	27. Mycroft Talks Bluntly

What brings me the pleasure of being picked up by you then?"

"I think we both know that." Mycroft leaned onto his umbrella that he was clasping, even when sitting in the car. His posture told him that this would be business, not chatter of the kind they had enjoyed on certain nights at Baker Street. 

"I was told you came round to reprocicating my brother's feelings for you?"

"And who told you so?" John held his look. He would not be intimidated by this.

"My brother himself if you need to know."

"Does he know about this?"

Silence was all the answer he would get and all he needed.

"I assume you have something else to talk to me about and that this not just a nice gesture of welcoming to the family."

"Indeed. I don't think I have to go into detail about what will happen to you should you decide to cause Sherlock anymore trouble of the emotional kind."

"Yes, I think it's not too far a stretch for my imagination. Though I still don't understand your concept of minding your own business."

"This is my business because it is family business. However, this was not the main reason for welcoming you back from your trip."

"Oh. So what do I owe the pleasure of your presence to then?"

"Sherlock brought it to my awareness that you might be a specialist on a matter, I do need some consultation on." John's eyebrows reached a peak point in his face. Had he raised them any higher, they would have melted into his hairline.

"Now what would that be? Are you ill? Because I am sure there are more distinguished doctors at the clinic that you shove Sherlock usually to that you could consult."

He saw Mycroft's face freeze in a neutral mask. He had taken the teasing too far, apparently the whole thing caused the older Holmes quite some discomfort.

"Sorry, just tell me what's up." 

Mycroft cleared his throat an began turning the handle of his umbrella in his hand as he spoke.

"I assume you are aware of my attachment to Emily?"

"That she is your girlfriend? Yes." He tried hard to stay serious in the face of Mycroft being so unsettled by such an everyday topic.

"Well, there has been some controversy."

"You mean you fucked it up?" Mycroft face looked as if he was in pain on hearing the swearing.

"Not exactly, or at least not terminally. I asked her to marry me and she refused me giving the unfitting moment of proposal as reason."

John faked a coughing fit to gain time to get back control over his face.

"I'm afraid I will need more details to help you there."

"I feared you would." Mycroft took a deep breath. "To put it bluntly, I am not coping well with the possibility that she could at some point decide to terminate our private arrangement." John bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Putting something bluntly thus meant Mycroft called a breakup the termination of a private arrangement. This was about to get very interesting.

"Not coping well means it sends me into panic attacks from time to time. As it did the other night. The logical solution to the problem from my perspective seemed to introduce some more reliability into our relationship by asking her to marry me and thus reduce the probability of her leaving. For reasons that do not seem completely logical to me, she is opposed to this. Not to marrying me in general, but the setting."

John's mind went blank. He had no idea what he was supposed to do in this. 

"And you would like me to talk to her?"

"No. No, no, no. I wondered if you could explain my mistake to me and might come up with a way of setting things right again."

John crossed his arms before his chest. "I think she doesn't like the reason you gave for why you would like her to accept her. Basically you told her you want to marry to end your panic attacks. Not because you love her. And you asked her when you just had a fight, I mean you're the diplomat in here..."

"I didn't have an argument, she had one." John couldn't hide a smile this time. That sounded just so very much like Sherlock. Even the way he curled his lips slightly as he went into pouting resembled his brother.

"Do you help me?"

"I will certainly try."

"I assume I don't have to remind you that this is to be treated as confidental?"

"Of course."

 

The conversation in the car had helped to lighten John's mood. It gave him something else to think about but his own messed up situation. Nevertheless his muscles tensed when he turned the keyi n the lock of his front door. He was greeted by the happy gurgling of his daughter lying on the living room floor. He picked her up and held her tight, looking for Mary. He found her in their dining room with a friend chatting loudly over a cup of tea. A shock went through him when he recognized Janine.

"Ouh, you are back! I didn't hear you cme in!" Mary came over and he allowed her to kiss him. Janine followed suit and placed a kiss in the air on each side of his cheeks. Theyh adn't spoken since they last met at the hospital after that tumultous night and their relationship certainly had not improved through it.

A tea was poured for him as well and he found himself trapped in the obligation to join their conversation for some time at least.

"How was your trip? Mary told me the connection was so bad, you harldy were able to call." John smiled politely.

"It was informative. Met some interesting people."

"And how was the city? I always wanted to go, it must be marvellous." Janine's voice became longing. John couldn't help it, his mind brought back memories of sunsets and long fingers tracing the outline of his shoulders. His body reacted immediatly and goose bumps went over him. He tried to catch a glimpse of Mary from the corner of his eyes to see if she was suspecting anything but her attention had already returned to Janine's tale about her new job. He excused himself by claiming Sarah needed a new diaper and retreated upstairs. 

After some minutes he heard his wife's steps on the stairs. He was lying on their bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about almost nothing. 

"Sorry, I would get rid of her, but she is kind of not doing very well. She has been seeing someone and well..." John lifted his head and nodded. 

"Do you mind if I go out then? I owe Greg a trip to the pub anyway."

She kissed him and returned the way she came. He texted Greg and was relieved to find he was able to make it.

 

 

 "It has been a long time, way too long. How are you mate?" Greg drew him near and patted his shoulder.

"I'm fine, just came back from Rome."

"Really? What a coincidence. I just got a postcard from Sherlock from there as well. Oh!" Greg stared at him and John pulled a face to show his discomfort.

"Oh, really? I thought you were like not on speaking terms any more."

"We weren't. I had the chance to go on a course in Rome and just seized the opportunity of setting things right."

Greg kept reading his face.

"Let's just sit down somewhere, this might take some time to explain." John's hands were shaking.

"Oh shit, John." Greg rubbed his face with his hand and John knew he had already guessed half of the story.

 

Mary began unpacking Johns bag. She told herself it was because of the laundry but she was looking for something she didn't exactly know what it was. She went through the pockets of his trousers, looked into the little compartments of the bag and found them all empty. That was even more unsettling than finding something. Maybe she was going mad with boredom, but he had seemed different when he came home. She had hoped the trio would bring back some of his good spirits that he was missing lately, that the escape from routine would help him through the monotony of life at the clinic. A feeling she knew all too well. Being at home all day with the baby drove her up the wall sometimes. All those mindless conversations with the neighbours, the dull routine of diapers and feeding, of socialising at the weekends, it sometimes robbed her of her will to live. She caught herself ever so often eyeing the box in her closet in which she hid her gun and gloves. The laundry went into the machine and she turned on the TV, avoiding any crime series.

 

"You have to tell her. I know what it feels like to be cheated at and it's just not fair."

"I will. I just have to get my head round this first. I didn't actually expect any of this to happen when I left for Rome, I just wanted to talk to him until..."

"Until what? What changed your mind after denying the obvious for so long?"

"A young colleague flirted with me. And I just found myself wishing it was Sherlock."

 Greg took a long sip from his beer watching the crowd in the pub while John kept turning his glas between his hands.

"I always knew. The night you just went mad when you saw that Jonah, I knew you would realize eventually." John looked at him, pain raging in his chest. 

"I'm an idiot Greg."

"So you are, but so is he. When is he coming back by the way? I talked to some people, we might be able to offer him an official contract for his work."

"I hope you won't pay him too well, I rely on him needing a flatmate again. He will be back for Christmas."

 

Mycroft found himself browsing youtube after Sherlock had forwarded him some links. Rather not helpful and surely not what he had in mind. It was a collection of idiots proposing or apologizing to their even more idiotic girlfriends. Apparently his brother was not taking this seriously. He closed the top of his computer and began staring out of the window of his study. Snow had begun to fall during the night. He distinctly remembered the sound. For the first time in his life he had become aware of the sound produced by snowflakes dropping gently on the windows of his bedroom. Now he was unable to stop himself listening to it. All night he had listened to it and watched her sleep. The panic had become more bearable now that he didn't hide it any more, though he still felt horribly selfconscious whenever it hit him. She stayed no matter how bad it became and it was supposed to assure him of her trustworthyness but it made him even more aware how much he needed her and even the thought of it now, in his study, made the panic rise.

 

Where are you right now? JW

 

At Jonah's place, he is working on something to infiltrate the computer of the customer of the virus. SH

 

Where are you? SH

 

On my way home. I met Greg tonight. JW

 

Do you miss me? JW

 

More than you will ever know. SH

 

When will I see you? JW

 

Christmas. That's two weeks. SH

 

Too long. I need you. JW

 

There was no answer for a long time andJohn felt abandoned. He hated he idea of Sherlock hanging out with Jonah. he knew there was probably no reason for jealousy but still he hated the idea and the scene of the two working together. he snow was getting in his face and under his jacket as the wind made it fall almost horizontally. He was unsure if he should have told Sherlock about Greg's reaction to his revelation. He had been diplomatic supportive as he always was but John couldn't help but notice his uneasiness about what John was about to do to Mary. It was supposed to be their first Christmas as a family and instead it would be the last. Though it was him who made the decision, the idea tightened his throat. He would break the news to Mary before the holidays. He was off work until the week after New Year, that would give him sufficient time to pack and move, contact a lawyer. Two more weeks. He felt like a traitor turning the key on his front door. As he was about to stoop the door open, a new text arrived on his phone.

 

Everything will be fine. Eventually. SH

 

Mary had already gone to bed and so he hid in the living room for another hour before going up and falling asleep at the very edge of the bed.

 


	28. Christmas Shopping

Jonah was happy to get back to London. He was looking forward to sharing his findings with Mycroft and to dinners at Baker Street, or anywhere really. The snow hit him hard as he heaved his suitcase into the trunk of a black car waiting for him at the airport. He gave Mycroft's adress to the driver and busied himself with his laptop. The town looked glorious, all lights and snow, the white taking somehow the harsh edge of the buildings and streets. It would be the first time he was looking forward to Christmas. Before his eyes he saw his sister decorating a Christmas tree as Sherlock and Mycroft were slouching on the couch in Mycroft's living room. It would be peaceful, a rest before the world would break over them again. The material he carried on his computer would mean someone would have to go to Japan to meet the man who had ordered the virus. It took him a moment to realize the car had stopped. Light was streaming from the windows in Mycroft's house, colouring the snow in his garden golden. The front door opened and he saw his sister's face appear in a ray of golden light, beaming with excitement. He felt his heart jump at finding her so unashamedly happy. She drew him close and hugged him before pulling him into the hall by his hand. Mycroft stood a little off, the two men smiled at each other as Emily began to chatter excitedly.

Jonah tugged into dinner, it had been cooked with all his preferences in mind, his first decent meal in a week. Over the table he watched Mycroft's face as he told him everything he knew about the meeting between Sherlock and John. The older man tried to sound uninvolved, but his precise questions about Sherlock's reactions conveyed his worry.

"Why didn't you bring him back with you?" Mycroft asked as he eyed the dessert as if it was a biological weapon.

"Your brother is enjoying himself way too much and won't leave a minute earlier than he has to. There are still a lot of museums he has not yet been banned from for annoying the staff and deducing guests in order to shorten the line."

Mycroft smiled and ran his finger along the rim of his glass. "And did you enjoy your stay?"

Jonah folded his napkin and dropped it onto his completely emptied plate before answering. "It's good to be back, food was a nightmare." 

"It's good to have you back, dinner without you was a nightmare." Emily pressed a kiss to his brow.

Mycroft lifted his eyebrows and cleared his throat.

"Your presence made it very much bearable, however." She kissed Mycroft's cheek and Jonah believed to see a blush pass his face as Emily got up and strolled out of the room.

"Did you discuss who is going to deal with the affair in Japan yet?"

"Yes, we did indeed but I think I would like to wait for Sherlock to have his say in it. I have no idea what he prefers, me going or he himself, maybe even with John, now that parametres have changed so considerably."

"What about the parametres in this house? Any changes?" Jonah smirked, sensing Mycroft's uneasiness on the topic. 

"You know about it?" He half hid his face behind his hand. 

"Of course, though I don't know what you are waiting for. Just ask her. Her answer is obvious, I have never seen her this happy."

"I just want to get it right this time. I kind of messed it up the last time."

"Any plans yet?"

"I'm afraid you will find me completely clueless on this matter. I will meet John at some point and talk about it."

 

John climbed the stairs and the tube station looking around himself for Mycroft. He found him eventually, melted into the crowd of passing masses doing their Christmas shopping. His face actually lit up as he recognized John and nodded to him.

"So, not quite sure how I am supposed to help with this but here I am." He gave Mycroft what he hoped looked like a encouraging smile.

"Just moral support, I guess." John was surprised to find the man they called the Iceman trembling with nerves. He let him lead the way and Mycroft speeded his step until they reached a jeweler whose window was decorated exquisitely. John tried to not look at the price tags on the jewelery on display. These were spheres of sums that made him dizzy. He remembered how he had saved for months to buy Mary that ring that looked ridiculous compared to the ones in the shop.

"Mr. Holmes, welcome." The assistant shook Mycroft's hand as if they were in a habit of meeting regularly. Mycroft took his hand and turned to introduce John.

"This is Mr. Watson, a friend of Sherlock's." 

The assistant smiled at him friendly. "So, how can I help you today?"

Mycroft cleared his throat and began searching his wallet nervously, producing a little piece of string.

"I'm looking for a ring. I tried to measure the seize with this. For a woman, that is." He pushed the piece of string towards the assistant who took it and disappeared with a tray collecting rings from various displays. John carefully watched Mycroft and did not miss the pools of sweat collecting on his face.

"Are you okay?" Mycroft nodded and wiped his forehead with his hand, it was still trembling.

"Just breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth." John spoke under his breath, minding the other customers. Mycroft nodded but he looked like a lost puppy.

The jeweler placed the tray in front of them and Mycroft picked up a ring that carried a ittle star formed out of diamonds. He looked at it carefully before turning towards John who nodded in approval. The jeweler smiled at him: "Any engraving?"

Mycroft took a pen from his pocket and wrote the text onto the form he had been handed. "Only connect". John thought it was rather sweet to see the man so excited. All the arrogant confidence he usually carried before himself was completely gone and the insecurity reminded him of Sherlock.

"What does it mean, the engraving I mean if you don't mind me asking." Mycroft held the door open for him as they left the shop. It's from Forster's Howard's End. I thought she would probably appreciate something literary."

"I'm sure she will." They wound their way through the masses on the pavement, Mycroft determinedly navigating them towards a restaurant. They sat down and Mycroft ordered, for both of them. 

"Thank you. It means a lot to me that you agreed to come. The whole affair just makes me nervous."

John carefully lowered the spoon to his soup and looked at him. "I understand. I have been battling with these things ever since I returned from Afghanistan. And Sherock suddenly disappearing surely didn't help."

"It's more the other way round. I feel responsible for keeping her out of danger. But being around me or Sherlock for that matter always means trouble."

"And so she knows. And still she chose to stay."

Mycroft leaned his head onto his hand and looked at John. "I never thought I would meet anyone so similar to me, or us to be precise. It doesn't cease to astonish me."

John was just about to ask him if he had ever been in a relationship before, but stopped himself, afraid to cross a line. Mycroft studied his face and guessed what was going on in his mind.

"I did meet others, but that was different. Apart from a short interlude at university, things always stayed kind of casual. The same holds true for Sherlock. I have never seen him this emotional about anyone." Mycroft smiled weakly and John's throat grew tight.

"He is defenseless towards you and trusts you blindly. I hope you are aware of that." Mycroft almost whispered it, keeping his gaze on John who felt water rising in his eyes. 

"You probably hurt her more by keeping her at a distance. That's what you should have gathered from the mess between me and your brother." John sipped on his wine to hide the emotions raising in him and was surprised to find Mycroft nod in agreement


	29. Texting in the Shower

Tension was high in the small room, a dozen people trying to keep track of the negotiations going on behind the glass window in front of them. Emily's eyes were glued to the screen as she scrolled through confidental documents. She was connected with Mycroft through an earplug as he was discussing with the Russsian ambassador in the room before her, feeding him information and trying to verify the data the diplomat gave him. "That is most definetly not true." Emily muttered into her microphone and watched Mycroft taking in the information without any kind of emotional reaction. 

The two men shook hands and Emily felt the tension leave her body. Her entire body was stiff. Around her excitement broke itself way and she joined relieved. They padded each others' shoulders and she began gathering her papers.

"Do you think you can convince him to come out with us for lunch? This is asking for a celebration."

Emily smiled. "I'll try." She opened the door and followed the secretary to the office. 

 

He closed the door behind himself and pulled the shirt over his head without bothering with the buttons. The converation had asked for a high degree of concentration and he felt like the shirt was dripping with sweat. He kept a stack of fresh clothes in the backroom of his office. He noticed her entering as he pulled a fresh one from the wardrobe.

"Mycroft? You're okay?" He saw her in the mirror, lingering at the door.

"Yes, everything fine." His voice sounded soft, her worried look drawing up his emotions once more. He pulled the shirt over his arms and moved towards her, gently pulling her into the room and closing the door behind her. She licked her lips and nestled with the collar of his open shirt. He leaned in and kissed her, pressing her against the door. Her breathing quickened as he moved his mouth down her throat. She ran her hands up his back before trying to pull the shirt off his shoulders. 

"They expect us to meet the others for lunch in ten minutes."

"We will need an excuse for being late." He tried to turn the key in the door with one hand while pulling at her belt. She was about to answer but instead closed her lips over his in a way that made his knees give in, both of them sliding onto the floor.

 

"You have switched sides then, haven't you?" SH

 

"What are you talking about?" JW

 

"I got news about your little shopping spree with my brother. don't have him fool you, he is still an idiot." SH

 

"Are you jealous because I met your brother?" JW

 

"Of course not. I just don't like it. I should be the only one you buy rings with." SH

 

"So would you like me to buy a ring?" JW

 

"That is sentimental crap. You know my opinion on these things." SH

 

"Do you want me to though, I mean sometime, very theoretically?" JW

 

"Sherlock?" JW

 

"Yes." SH

 

A knock at the dor stopped John from replying. He had to grab the shower curtain so not to slip. Texting with Sherlock from the shower in the morning had become his most guilty secret. He hurried to delete the texts and threw the mobile into the laundry basket before turning off the water. He had become a creature of the lowest sort. Mary passed him when he opened the door without any greeting. He felt the shame raging in his guts. it was so horribly unfair what he did to her. Still, he was paralyzed every time he made an attempt to think about how to tell her.

"John, you forgot your mobile." He froze.

"Thanks. It must have slipped out of my pocket." He took it from her hand, avoiding her eyes.

"Whom are you texting from the shower?"

He dropped his head. there was no point in lying. "Sherlock."

"Case?" He voice sounded hopeful.

"No." He clenched his hands. "Mary, there is something I need to tell you."

 

 

For some reason lying naked on the floor in his office felt less strange than he had expected it to. He couldn't hold back giggling about the whole thing, with Emily's head on his chest.

"If we don't want to be number one topic of office gossip for the rest of the week, we should get going." She looked anxious.

"It's funny, but for the first time in ages, I can't be bothered to care." Another giggle escaped him.

"Mycroft, she knocked twice now, she will have the door opened if you don't get out at some point."

"I know." His laughter grew louder, he couldn't stop himself any more. He still coughed from laughing when he picked up his ringing mobile that had slithered over the floor when had taken off his trousers.

 

"Trust Sherlock to call in the wrong moment." He answered the call. "Sherli, everything alright?"

His brother didn't answer for a split second and Mycroft knew he was caught. "Ahm, I hope I didn't interrupt anything, excercising? Shouldn't you be at work?"

"What is it?"

"John called me, will you be needing the spare room at Baker Street?"

"You would have to ask Emily."

"Well, I assume she is not far off, so could you pass me on?"

 

He hadn't heard the car coming, the snow muffled most sounds in the street. It slowed down next to him and the blacked out window was turned down.

"John?" Emily opened the door. "Come on, get in." He lifted his bag into the car and got in. The heat hit his face like a wall. The snowflakes in his hair and on his face melted immediatly and his face reddened. It hid well the moist and redness that had already been there. He had never felt so empty. Every limp of him was aching.

"I hope it's alright if I move my stuff after Christmas." He nodded at her and let his head fall back into the seat, closing his eyes. She didn't try to talk to him and he was grateful for it. When the car stopped at Baker Street, she simply grabbed his bag and held the door open for him. John climbed the stairs as if he was in a trance. Mrs. Hudson followed them for once not chatting, but opening the windows and filling the fridge with several boxes of food.

"Feel free to come over any time or just call. Sherlock is trying to get the next flight but Heathrow is closed because of the snow."

John could do nothing more but nod again. He just wanted to be alone and think. Emily stacked some paper and wood in the fireplace and started it. 

"John? Really, anything." He aknowledged her attempts with a smile before dropping in his armchair. He heard her collecting some things around the flat before carefully closing the door behind herself. The last time he had been alone in the flat was just after Sherlock's fall. The silence was oppressing. Mary had been crying, the sound still rang in his ears. He missed the smell of their house, of baby cream and Mary's perfume. Baker Street smelled empty and dusty, the air warming up only slowly. Suddenly he felt tempted to go through his medical kit under the sink and find himself something to make him sleep. He lacked however the energy to do even that.

 

 


	30. Counting your Blessings

 

"Let's go over this methodically again, shall we?" Jonah watched Emily and Mycroft march along a long piece of paper they had spread on the dining table, his sister chewing on a pen as always when trying to concentrate. Mycroft stood opposite her and crossed his hand behind his back. The whole scene amused him greatly, they looked like two hostile warlords, negotiating a peace treaty. He was left to open the door when the bell rang. Mrs Potter was busy in the kitchen.

"Hi John." He made an inviting gesture and John entered without a further word of greeting. In the hall he apparently also observed the strange little scene in the dining room and stopped at the door.

"Don't bother trying to talk to them. They try to set a world record in being weird today." Jonah and John entered the living room to watch from the couch.

"She is completely isolated down there. Try to explain again why you think that to be a good idea." He didn't sound annoyed, but very serious.

"You don't know her yet, she will come up with the most embarrassing stories so keeping her away from your parents will minimize the chances of political aftermath. On top, as you can read in my analysis in appendix four, their areas of interest match not in the slightest. Being a mathematician, your mother will be much happier next to Jonah." She swiped on a tablet she was holding, passing it to Mycroft who got out a golden framed pair of glasses and started marching again.

"What is this?" John looked at Jonah who was smiling with delight at the scene.

"They are planning Christmas dinner, office style. Look there is a file on everyone attending." Jonah opened his laptop and handed it to John. He browsed the files oncemore questioning his own sanity. Next to the preferred food, the two had written down areas of interest and jobs, weak points and some biographical details.For a moment he was tempted to open his own file but stopped himself. He wasn't in the mood of any more humiliation.

"But won't Sherlock's stories unsettle her? I mean he usually likes to shock people with really disgusting stuff."

Mycroft looked exhausted.

"There is no way you will avoid some kind of freaking out on her part. First she still believes Emily is working as a secretary in an office, second she will be more than intimidated by this house and thirdly your mere way of talking and holding yourself will get her in a state. She is always selfconscious around posh people." Jonah stated it and grabbed for a bag of crisps he had next to him. Mycroft's hands hung from him like they didn't belong to him and Emily dropped in a chair, beginning to hit her head against the top of the table.

"Do you have any suggestions or are you just trying to be unhelpful?" Mycroft glared at Jonah who stuffed some crisps into his smirking mouth. 

"The latter." Mycroft rolled his eyes and returned to his plan. "Let's just postpone this and return to the timetable for the 24th and 25th."

"Mycroft, he is right though. My mother is nothing like your family. It will all just be completely awkward." Mycroft ran his hand down Emily's spine in a feeble attempt to calm her down, but it was obvious that he was stressed out himself.

"Why don't you just leave it up to pure chance who is going to sit where. Things will sort out themselves, you can't plan things like this." John felt obliged to bring some common sense into the conversation. He saw the comedy in the situation that amused Jonah so very much but he also felt with the couple who were about to lose it. Mycroft strolled over and occupied the armchair opposite John. "I'll count on you to keep my brother under control."

"I'll do my best." John smiled a little at the thought of spending Christmas with Sherlock.

 

"There is no flight for days. All airports are blocked and then for some reason most people insist on flying the same time as I do." SH

 

"It's called Christmas. Remember?" JW

 

"I'm at your brother's watching a quite creepy show of two control freaks completely losing it." JW

 

"Christmas dinner?" SH

 

"Yep. What about going by train?" JW

 

"Train? Train! You are a genius!" SH

 

It was early morning when he arrived at St. Pancras. A twenty hour traintrip, his hair was glued to his face and his stomach turned at the thought of another cup of coffee in his ife. Still it felt always good to arrive in London. And this time he was returing to a version of London he loved the most. This time when he entered Baker Street, it wouldn't be empty, it wouldn't be filled with the noise of strangers walking around. This time it would be John running the kettle, John making strange gurgling sounds when brushing his teeth, John not picking up his feet tiredly. This time he would be coming home. He imagined John getting up and scratching his head as he waited for the kettle to boil. He imagined his gaze wandering onto Baker Street as he sipped his tea, shying back as it was still too hot on his lips. He imagined him smiling down on him as he stood at the door of Baker Street in the snow.

John was haunted by nightmares. Not the usual ones, they evolved around Mary. She kept crying and shouting at him. "You leave your daughter behind to hunt criminals with Sherlock Holmes. What exactly will you tell her when she asks you why you left us?" In his dreams his mouth was glued together and he was unable to answer. In reality he hadn't done much more. Mary's pain paralyzed him. He lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He tried to compose himself, it would be greatly unfair on Sherlock to show off his pain on his return. It had been his own, conscious choice, the right one. But still it hurt him. He shortly gave into the urge to aknowledge the unfairness of the whole situation. It was the same pain he had felt every time he had left Sherlock behind. Maybe this guilt would stay with him forever. He heard Mrs Hudson moving in the living room. She surely was antsy about Sherlock coming back. He went down the stairs and greeted her friendly. She clapped her hands talking about how happy she was for things working out eventually. When she caught a glimpse of his face, her happy tune ceased.

"John, sometimes decisions aren't easy and there is only wrong and less wrong. Stop torturing yourself. There is nothing you can do about it. Try to be happy, at least a little." He picked up his cup of tea she had put on the table and wandered over to the window, watching the odd snowflake floating down. He followed one of them with his eyes as it danced in the wind and turned, first being blown up again before slowly dwindling down again. It landed eventually on black hair. Very black, curly hair. His face turned up and their eyes met. Sherlock's eyes were beaming in a way he had never seen before. It was as if someone had turned on the light behind them. His whole face was on fire, he saw that he was laughing out loud as he looked up at him. John suddenly remembered the conversation he had had with Mycroft. About Sherlock trusting him completely, about relying on him entirely. He had agreed to take back the responsibilty for the wellbeing of Sherlock and somehow that thought numbed the pang of guilt in his chest. He loved him. He loved him so very much, his heart was about to break. The cup almost missed the table when he put it down, running for the door.

 

Sherlock lay in the tub and carefully stored every second of this morning away in the room at the centre of his mind palace. The moment he had turned into Baker Street and had become aware of the light behind the window of their living room. The moment John had stumbled out of the door and landed in his arms, burying his face in his coat. And most of all the way his name had sounded from his mouth, a sound that still sent shivers down his spine. He had covered his John in his arms, repeating his name into his hair feeling like floating in the air. He had eaten to please John, finished almost two pieces of toast and two cups of tea. They had watched each other over the table with awe, Sherlock still waiting for this bliss to collapse and John in his usual doctoral way, checking his face for anything not good. Sherlock ducked his head under the water in the tub to muffle a laugh that was bursting from him. The water was warm and plesant, he could have stayed here forever, just counting his blessings.

When his hands began to wrinkle and the water had turned cold he forced himself out and dressed. When he stepped into the living room, he suddenly realized the problem they were facing. Sherlock would have just sat down in his armchair out of habit, but somehow he realized that John was probably expecting some change in behaviour of him. He suddenly felt completely insecure. John was sitting on the couch, pretending to read the papers. He probably expected him to sit next to him. Sherlock noticed that he was standing in the middle of the room dumbfolded and so he rushed towards his room but stopped once more in his tracks as he realized what that could imply. So he grabbed an odd medical magazine from a stack next to the fireplace and slowly returned to the couch, thinking about the appropriate distance between them when seated on the way. He had never been bothered with getting his distance right before, but somehow he felt like in this moment it very much mattered. 

"Sherlock, it's alright, just sit down." John didn't lower the paper, but held out his hand to him. He was immensly glad about the gesture and grabbed the hand like a drowning man. He clasped the arm and placed it carefully over his chest, resting his head on John's lap. 

"Anything interesting?" He turned his face to look up at John, quickly checking for any discomfort but found none.

"A rich landlord of several houses in London has disappeared without a trace after getting married for the fourth time." 

"his new wife caught him with someone else at the wedding and divorce would just come too expensive. Probably in financial trouble."

"Making it up?"

"No, read the headline already on the train." John tightened his grip around Sherlock's chest for a second and Sherlock returned the gesture by running his hand up his arm.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you came back. Did she take it very badly?"

John cleared his throat. "Yes, she wished me a very painful death and blamed me for ruining Sarah's life. But who could blame her?"

"Do you regret it?" Sherlock whispered, he sounded even close to tears.

"Sometimes. But I regretted it the other way round as well." John dropped the paper on his knees and turned Sherlock's face to look at him by his chin. "I'm not leaving you. Understood? You and me belong together." Sherlock closed his eyes and turned to face the back of the couch. His mind was revolting against so much emotional data. When John placed his hand in his curls he was relieved because he knew that his John understood.

 

For some reason the snow wouldn't stop to fall this year. It had already reached an unusal height, Mycroft thought gazing into the garden. A story book Christmas, at least it had the potential to become such. Two more hours before the invasion of his house. He felt her arms curling around him from behind and handing him a cup of tea. He took it and kissed the hand. Her heart beat at an unsual rate, he felt it at his back where her breast pressed into his back. 

"Whatever happens tonight, I will stay with you. There is nothing that can shock me enough to leave."

"Just don't take it personal if she objects. It's just a far stretch from where I come from to this. And our relationship has never been easy to start with." 

Mycroft took a sip of tea. "You put up with me and the madness I have to call my life, I didn't expect to come from a background people would care to call normal." She sighed and withdrew her arms when she heard clatter from the kitchen. "Mrs. Potter, do you need help?"

Emily had always been hestiant to talk about her life before that day at the library and he hadn't dared to press for it. Instead he had carefully gathered whatever little information she slipped during conversations. Jonah had filled him in with the odd detail. He knew that their mother had always worked hard, leaving Emily mostly in charge of Jonah. There had never been a lot of money and so Emily worked her way through school and university, pulling Jonah through with her. Jonah worshipped his sister for it. Both had passed their parents with regard to their education and he could imagine how that must have widened the gap they obviously felt towards their parents. The father was hardly talked of, as his mentioning caused undefined pain in Emily's face and pure rage in Jonah. Mycroft felt a sudden wave of protectiveness rolling over him, determined to get both of them through this social mingling unharmed.

 


	31. The Invasion

 

"Do we really need to go? This will just be tedious. He is unbearable without being stressed, but an annoyed Mycroft and Christmas at the same time..."

John was already putting on his coat while Sherlock still strolled through the flat in his pants, combing his hair. He had done so for an hour. "I know, but of course we are going."

"You are being illogical again."

John thought about telling Sherlock just how nervous his brother was indeed, but he he had the unsettling feeling that Sherlock could not be trusted to not use the information against Mycroft. 

"He has helped me out quite a lot those last couple of weeks so if he invites us, we will be going. Besides don't you want to meet your parents?"

Sherlock made an undescribable noise in the back of his throat, but he obliged and put on a pair of trousers and handed John his violin, already packed into its case.

 

"Good morning Sir, I would like to hire your most average car." The assistant at the car rental blinked.

"Ahm, certainly, this is the list of vehicles we have on offer." He placed the leaflet before Mycroft who took a quick glance at it, then turned around to check Emily was still studying the display of arriving flights for her mother's flight.

"I think I didn't make myself clear here. Which of these vehicles would you hire to pick up your inlaws if you don't want them to think you have an income above national average?" The assistant blinked again.

"Well, this is our cheapest model, it has..." Mycroft rolled his eyes, checking once more for Emily.

"What do you earn?"

"Sir?"

"Would you allocate yourself within national average?"

"Ah, yes, I think so."

"Which of these could you afford to hire or which is the closest to the model you own privately?"

"I own a VW Polo, Sir." He pointed to a picture on the leaflet and Mycroft sighed relieved.

"Thank you, now we are getting somewhere. I would like to hire such a model, please give me the oldest one you have in stock right now." The people in the queue slowly began huffing and shuffling their feet. The assistant continued to stare at Mycroft not understanding, who once more took a deep breath.

"How many of these do you have in stock right now?"

"Three."

"Which of these has been involved a minor accident of of sorts lately?

"The green one."

"I'll have that. I'll pay in cash."

 

"Sorry Mum, Mycroft's car is at the garage and the office mysteriously ran out of office cars." He could tell from her voice that she had caught him on not telling her the truth but had not yet figured out the entire plan behind the manoevre.

"You needn't have picked me up, I could have taken the train." Emily's mother folded herself into the backseat, her knees hit the frontseat. Emily gave him a look to which he tried to reply with an innocent smile, getting in the driver's seat. It were years that he had driven himself. A fact he had forgotten to mention to Emily on purpose. It took him two attempts to set the car into motion and gained him a very puzzled look from Emily not without similarity to the one he had gotten from the assistant at the counter.

 

"Oh, I didn't know I would be staying at a hotel. Emily you should have told me."

"No, mum this is Myc's place, actually." Emily blushed furiously and the woman's face dropped slightly.

"The others will be here any minute. Just get out, I will try and find a parking spot somewhere." Emily held the door open for her mother and lifted her suitcase from the trunk. Mycroft drove a little down the street and found a parking spot. Upon his third attempt he managed to park the car in it. He really would need to get some practice with this.

"Ey, young man, this is a resident's only parking area." He turned to locate the voice. It belonged to his neighbour who was standing at his window on the first floor. 

"Good evening Mr. Smith." Mycroft waved at him and the elderly man opened his mouth in surprise.

"Mr. Holmes! I'm so very sorry, I didn't recognize you in...that dressed down." Mycroft glanced down himself contently.

"I'm on holiday. Thought I'd try to dress accordingly." He wore the outfit he had once bought at his shopping trip with Mary and one of Sherlock's old coats.

"Is this your car?"

"At the moment, yes. My own one is at the garage." He had plugged two random cables himself and hoped it would take the garage long enough to locate the fault for him to keep up the pretense.

"Why ddin't you ask, we would have gladly borrowed you one of ours. I can always get our driver to bring you..."

"Oh, no,no, Mr. Smith. Thank you very much. This one is quite fit for my purposes." He padded the car's roof.

"Merry Christmas Mr. Smith." He waved to his neighbour.

"And to you Mr. Holmes."

 

"You look completely ridiculous." Sherlock entered without bothering with a greeting.

"Under the circumstances at hand, I'll take that as a compliment." Mycroft caught the coat Sherlock was throwing at him in the air.

"Welcome John." The two smiled at each other as John peeled out of his jacket which Mycroft took to a cabinet beneath the stairs.

"Welcome to the madhouse, let the games begin." 

"That bad?" John gave Jonah a worried look.

"Did you see what he is wearing?"Jonah giggled.

 

It was the most beautiful tree John had ever seen. Mycroft's living room looked like it had been cut from an advert with the huge tree before the windows looking into the snow covered garden. Mrs. Potter had outdone herself, the table in the conservatory was bending with baked goods and drinks. He shook the hands of Sherlock's parents and Emily's mother but found himself a place near the fireplace. He didn't trust himself to stay in such a good mood, fearing that the thought of Mary and his daughter would overcome him and so he preferred to watch the scene from a slight distance. He smirked when he noticed that Jonah tried a similar strategy but was stopped by his mother who kept trying to involve him in conversation. Sherlock had begun to follow Mycroft around (who was hectically trying to avoid Emily's interrogating stare) gesturing at him in a lively. Despite all his attempts to hide it, Sherlock was actually enjoying this. Even when his mother caught him by the arm, picking nonexisting pilling from his shirt, his ease and good mood was streaming from his every pore, though he tried to cover it with a lot of frowning and complaining.

 

With another twenty-seven minutes until dinner and his brother annoying their mother only mildly, Mycroft finally found a second to sit down. In his head he ran through a list of factors to keep in mind about the evening and found them all fullfilled to his satisfaction. He had managed to get through an estimated thirty minutes of conversation with Emily's mother and replaying them in in his mind, he couldn't find any worrying mishaps or misunderstandings in them. However, he had come to understand what Emily had been worried about. The woman surely acted nervously around him. He still kindled the hope that it would wear off during the evening, but Jonah had categorized it as unlikely, based on earlier experience. For once he was glad that his mother and father were indeed so very much normal. They had easily gotten into a habit of talking to Emily. His mother had even pressed a few words out of Jonah who was now chewing on a marinated tofu sausage with gluten free tomato ketchup. They managed to ease out a lot of the awkwardness he had dreaded the last couple of days to cover up the evening.

"Myc, darling, why are there name tags on the dining table?" Mycroft came back from his thoughts and looked up at his mother who brooded over him, hands at her hips.

"So you know where to sit? Fairly obvious."

" Son, you work too much. Can't you just relax at least at Christmas? This is a family dinner, not an UN meeting."

"The social structures show quite some resemblance between the two events, however."

"Oh, stop being silly. What made you put me and your father at the far end of the table, away from Emily's mother?"

"An analysis of your preferred topic of conversation and other factors that have proven to be helpful. I tested the system on several occasions."

His mother drew a chair next to him. He sighed.

"You have missed the obvious, though." Mycroft looked at her, sliding deeper into the armchair.

"We do have a common topic."

"Which would be what?"

"You."

"Me?"

"No, you. It only seems appropriate to exchange some ideas about our children, since you have entered a relationship."

"Why don't you concentrate on ruining the life of your other son for a change, he is over there." He pointed at Sherlock who was busy deducing the presents under the tree for John.

"Does he talk to you about John?"

"Not unless he is in deep trouble or I settle on methods of forceful convincing."

"I sometimes wonder why he never talks to me about these things. Or you, for that matter." 

He was glad that Mrs. Potter entered with the soup at this moment, only two minutes behind schedule. He wasn't keen on discussing this with her. He would have had to talk to her about telling a crying and raging Sherlock to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from crying in front of his classmates when being dropped of at school after the holidays. The eight year old had bitten himself so hard, he had drawn blood. "Whatever you do, don't show them what you feel, it will make it all worse. It will always be used against you." he had told him covering some bruises the neighbour's children had inflicted on Sherlock with disinfectant. Looking back he probably would have to take most of the blame for Sherlock's troubles but it had been the the best advice he had been able to give, the only way he himself had muddled through, the only way he knew of blending in.


	32. The World is A Crazy Place

 

"And she works at the same place as he does?"

"Yes."

"I see."

"What do you see, mother?"

"Oh, nothing."

Jonah frowned. Never had been there more meaning in the word "nothing" than when it was uttered by his mother in such a context.

"What is it?"

"I just... she will be so disappointed when it all ends, and she will even lose her job on top of it."

"If..."

"If what?"

"If it all ends."

"Jonah, she doesn't belong here, eventually he will find himself somebody more suitable and she will be the one paying the price for a few month of make believe. I mean look around yourself." She pointed her head vaguely in the direction of an oil painting above the fireplace showing some ancestor of the Holmes in full uniform on a horse.

"Mother, this is not the nineteenth century."

"You will find that little has changed in that respect. But she won't listen to me if I tell her so, she never does. He will grow embarrased of her, just listen to her accent and compare it to his. It's a wonder they understand each other at all."

Jonah preferred to fill his mouth with food than to give into the temptation of answering to the comments of his mother. Emily had made him swear not to tell her what exactly they were working and for whom so not to scare her.

"I also don't agree with her giving up her plans to return to university, for a job as a secretary!"

"She never said she would. She had always planned to work through the course."

Emily had a hard time following the conversation with Sherlock, listening to her mother's comments to her brother at the same time. It wasn't something that she hadn't thought about herself sometimes when she woke at night and couldn't find back to sleep. What if indeed? The face of the young woman at his grandmother's dinner party kept popping up in her mind. The meticulous way she moved and walked, the impeccable way she had been dressed. There was little she could bring up against that. This idea had been one of the reasons she had turned down Mycroft that night at Baker Street. She had had a gnawing feeling that he had fancied the idea out of a strange mood, that he had not thought this through, though it was very unlike him to utter something he had not entirely thought through.

Mycroft scraped the remains of dinner into the bin from the plates piling high in the kitchen. The party was gathering in the hall for a walk around the park before church. A ridiculous tradition his father insisted on every year.

"Mycroft, can I have a word with you?" John had entered and carefully closed the door of the kitchen behind him. He was already dressed, wearing a new pair of gloves and matching scarf. Italian label. Present from Sherlock.

"Sure."

"It's not like me to telltale but I overheard a conversation between Jonah and his mother at dinner. She thinks you will dump Emily at some point, that you are playing with her. Now, I think Emily heard it as well because she is upstairs, throwing up."

Mycroft took a second, looking into John's face. He quickly cleaned his fingers on a towel before making his way to the hall.

"Ah, there you are, I was just telling your mother how very much we like...."

"Excuse me for a second, dad." he spurted towards the stairs. He caught Sherlock looking at him and then at John. 

"Dad, did you see how Mycroft has managed to ruin his garden by taking out that cherry tree at the far end? No? Then why don't we all go through the garden and I'll show you. He can meet us at the park's gate in some minutes." Sherlock had grabbed his father by his sleeve and dragged him towards the door. Mycroft made a note to thank his brother as soon as the occasion presented itself.

 

The bathroom door was locked. He knocked. She didn't answer but turned the key. He entered and immediatly dropped on the floor next to her.

"Who told you?"

"John."

"He always catches me."

"You know it's not true."

She didn't answer.

"Look at it from a purely objective perspective."

"There is no such thing as an objective perspective."

"What reason would I have? I have been without someone for years, why would I enter into a relationship now if it wasn't serious?"

"Hormonal imbalance, emotional need?" 

"Don't pretend to be thick, you know me better than that." He smirked, hoping she would join in.

"Which doesn't mean that you won't regret it sooner or later."

"Possibility with limited probability, not necessity. What do you want me to do? Go out and spray it onto the wall of every house in the street? Make a declaration on television? Have the queen mention it in her speech tonight? You name it, because I may be damned for it but I will do anything for you." He finally caught a trace of a smile on her face.

"You wrote it in that letter to me, but you have never said it. And when you wrote that letter you thought I would never read it unless you are dead."

"Right, get up! Now!" He pulled her up at her arm, ignoring her protest.

"Where are we going?" He kept his firm grip on her hand.

"Stay here." He left her in front of the tree in the living room, trailing off in search of a small present wrapped in red paper.

"Mycroft, stop it, I believe you. Don't be silly."

"No! No!" He turned pointing his finger at her and giving her a stern look that made her smile with embarrassment. He finally found it and held it up triumphantly.

"See, I bought this a couple of days ago, just mentioning it so you don't think I do this simply to convince you or get myself out of this argument. I have thought about it and planned it, I was under no pressure to do so."

"This is completely silly." She hid her face in her hands.

"Absolutely. The world is a crazy place and some of its customs have always struck me as odd but right now, I don't care."

He tore the ribbon from the box and dropped to his knees.

"Emily Peerson, would you do me the honour of marrying me?"

"For goodness sake, get up!" She laughed and pulled at his arm.

"Not until I got an answer."

"Yes of course."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

 

"The deed is done." Sherlock whispered into John's ear as he saw the couple approach, trying to catch up with the group. John turned.

"Just keep it to yourself, will you?" 

To his surprise Sherlock nodded without putting up resistance. Mycroft caught up with them, clasping his arms around himself.

"Freezing out here!"

"If only one had something to warm one from inside." Sherlock gave a mock sigh.

"I have no idea what you are referring to." Mycroft straightened himself. "Thank you for just now."

"You're welcome." Sherlock buried his hands in his pockets, looking for something."Consider it my Christmas present. And clean your knees, the dust on them is screaming that you have just been kneeling somewhere. If mum sees it, you're beyond help." Mycroft brushed over the knees of his trousers with trembling hands.

"What was that whole dress up thing about anyway?"

"Not one of my smartest ideas, I admit. I was trying to blend in with her folks a little."

"The last time I saw you in jeans you were charging someone money to let them copy your homework."

"Change of topic, please. Did you come prepared?"

"Of course, and I will beat you this year." Sherlock began searching his pockets again.

"Beat him at what?" John looked back and for between the two.

"We have established a little game to pass the time during service." Mycroft reached inside his coat and produced a stack of little cards, handing them to John. "You're welcome to join."

John looked at the cards. Some were very old, written in a child's hand, some newer. 

"The person most likely to be displeased with their presents.The person having been to the hairdresser the latest." He flipped through the cards reading them out loud.

"You challenge the other player with one of the cards, and your opponent points out the person in the crowd he thinks fits the criteria the best. If you approve, the player gets to keep the card, if not, you draw one from his stack. You're allowed to add up to five new cards every year." Sherlock grinned, going through his stack.

"That's hilarious. But how do you do it without talking?"

"Since everybody is sitting in rows, you indicate the row with your left hand, the person with your right, always counting from the nave. Your head points out whether it's on the right or the left side."

"You have played this for a while, haven't you?"

"Ever since Sherlock once tried to pick the flowers from the hat of the lady in front of him out of boredom and I had to stop him somehow." Mycroft took back his stack of cards, carefully placing them in his pocket. "So far, I have won every year."

John took Sherlock's stack from his hand and began reading through them. Even in the earliest ones you could tell which ones had been written by the detective and which ones by Mycroft. It was touching. 

"A person worth befriending" a yellow one read written in Sherlock's hand, the rims very much worn and the hand unpracticed.

"Kind of never mastered that one." Sherlock muttered, looking over John's shoulder.

 

Being forced to sit in silence, the thought of his daughter and Mary returned. The thought of the miserable time Mary must be having while he was actually enjoying himself in the company of the Holmes brothers filled him with selfdisgust. He had tried to ring Mary twice that night, wanting to hear she and Sarah were alright but hadn't been surprised when she didn't pick up. He fervently hoped she had joined Janine or some other friend for Christmas. He watched the brothers drawing cards and pointing out people, their mother rolling her eyes at them. Some weeks ago he would not have believed anyone telling him about the two actually engaging in such leisure with each other. Mycroft's every action towards his brother conveyed nothing but pure love for Sherlock and John couldn't help but feeling moved by it. Though the sight brought up another thought he usually preferred to keep surpressed, the thought of Harry.

"I had someone check on them. They went to stay with Janine in the countryside. Judging from the amount of luggage, they will stay there for at least until after New Year." Emily leaned towards him, whispering. He looked at her surprised that she had been able to read his thoughts, but then again it shouldn't have been that surprising.

"Thank you." He bit his lip suddenly feeling a little overtaxed with all the merriment around him.

"Always my pleasure, John." The way she looked, she was holding similar feelings. She turned to Jonah, tapping him on the shoulder as he had missed the hint to get up, being preoccupied with reading on an e-reader half hidden in his prayer book.

 

Mycroft began collecting some final strayed dishes around his living room when he found Sherlock hidden behind a magazine on the couch. Everybody else had gone to to bed, every room in the house now filled.

"What are you reading there?" Mycroft crouched down to look at the cover. "Where did you get that smut?"

"Mum left it on the table."

"How to keep the romance alive. Ten ways to look your best at Christmas. Oh, Sherlock!"

"It's somehow captivating. Is that what people are interested in?" Mycroft didn't answer but poured the remains of wine from a bottle into his glass and poked the dying fire in the fireplace.

"So, according to them, how do you keep the romance alive?"

"Apparently, day to day life is the number one enemy of an exciting relationship. And buying expensive underwear seems the number one remedy, at least when you try to impress a man."

"That's your life sorted then."

"I was kidding Sherlock!" Mycroft smirked as Sherlock looked at him puzzled. "Are you planning on going to sleep at some point?"

Sherlock shrugged and began flapping through the pages.

"You could still sleep on the couch in the study, if you don't want to share a room with him."

"Ahm, nooo." Sherlock weighed his head, drawing out the vowel. "That would just be ridiculous."

"Certainly. Staying up for the rest of your life to avoid talking to him about it surely is the less manic choice at hand."

"And why are you, the eternal fountain of wisdom still down here?"

"To shower you in my never ceasing advice." He grinned and got up.

"Good mood just doesn't suit you." Sherlock frowned and followed him up the stairs.

 


	33. Pillow Talk

 

"You still didn't tell me who won this year." She was sitting in bed, holding the ring with both hands. The sight quickened his heartbeat. He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in her hair. He sat down at the end of the bed, loosening his shoe laces.

"We called it a draw. This certainly is the Christmas of premiers."

"And why is that?"

"He challenged me with the card "someone worth befriending" and I pointed to Jonah and you. He said that you wouldn't do because we are more than friends and Jonah was disqualified because we already are friends, hence no befriending."

He took his pyjama from the bed and pulled it over his head, well aware that she was watching him.

"Can you promise me something?"

"I faintly remember making a rather big promise to you today already, but I'll see if I can manage another one tonight."

"Never try to change to fit in for my sake ever again."

"Which is supposed to mean never wear those jeans again?"

"No, I meant exactly what I said."

"Alright."

"Only connect. I was surprised you remembered that. Did you read the book?"

"I'm afraid I have to admit I didn't but you talked about it for about half an hour when we met at that sandwich place, so I looked it up. I see why it appeals to you and it seemed to fit...us."

He drew back the duvet and got into bed, looking at her. She still turned the ring in her hands.

"Will you give me a promise as well?"

"I promised you today to put up with you for the rest of my life, so what else could you want from me?"

He turned towards her and looked straight into her eyes. "If they offer you a place in that course, promise me you will accept it. I would never forgive myself if you ever felt like you couldn't accept it because of work or me or something connected with it."

She bit her lip, her eyes firmly fixed on the ring. "Don't even dare offering to pay for it. And I will be paying you rent when I move in here. And I will keep the job." She put up her hand to stop him from replying adding: "because I like it and I have never enjoyed anything as much as working with you. I will not have people assuming I'm with you for the money."

"I know you are not, that's all that counts." He drew her close and curled around her back, resting his head on hers. She reached under her pillow producing a book with a blue leather cover.

"Merry Christmas." She handed it to him, he took it without moving away from her.

"What is it?"

"Open it." He opened the first page. It showed a picture of Tower Bridge at night. First he thought it was a picture she had taken at some point but then he spotted the little date and time imprinted at the bottom. This had been taken from CCTV footage. He took a closer look and gasped with surprise.

"That's us, on the bridge that's us right?" He felt her face heating up under his cheek as she blushed.

"Jonah helped me to find the footage." He turned the page. The next one was covered in her handwriting.

"I have written down everything I remember about meeting you at the library and stuff. I know you keep a diary but I thought you might like to read my version. And then you can put yours here so maybe I can read it?" She pointed to some empty pages, her fingers trembled.

"You don't have to if it unsettles you." She had begun to stutter as she felt his breathing quickening behind her. He pressed his face into her hair. She smelled of Christmas tree and pudding and freshly fallen snow.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to set you off." He shook his head and tightened his arms' grip around her.

"Emily Peerson, I love you."

They lay like this for a long time in silence, waiting for the panic to cease. When his breathing finally slowed, he took her hand and turned it so he could look at the little star on the ring.

"Why a star then?" she whispered. 

"Ever since I met you I keep dreaming of sitting somewhere and being showered in thousands of white stars falling on me."

"Is it a good dream then?"

"The best I could ever have."

 

 

"It will take at least a double murder to wash my brain of all this sentimental clutter. All that merriment gives me headache!" Sherlock let himself simply fall over backwards onto the bed while unbottoning his shirt. The movement of the mattress made John jump slightly. He smiled to himself, for once seeing right through Sherlock's words.

"I rather liked the day."

"Oh, please John, not you as well."

"And so did you."

Sherlock huffed. He bounced back into standing up, walking into the bathroom. John had actually been half asleep already when Sherlock came into the room. Now he watched the man move around through half closed eyes. There was nervous energy all over him, it showed in the way his long fingers folded his clothes over the chair with too much determination, the overcontrolled movements. He thought about where to pick up the topic to cause not too much of a fuzz and maybe even coax out an honest answer.

"Sherlock, did you ask Emily to send someone to watch Mary and Sarah?"

"I assumed it would give you some peace of mind."

"Thank you, that was really...considerate of you." He smiled as he watched Sherlock's surprised look at himself in the mirror, the man had not expected praise.

"You're welcome." His voice was much lower now, grabbing the toothbrush, holding John's gaze in the mirror. John rested himself against the back of the bed and folded his hands around his knees.

"What kept you so long?"

"I was reading something." He spat toothpaste into the sink, before rubbing his face with water. The drops of water glistened in his curls and turned his hair into something that looked like very expensive silk. 

"For your work?" The curls shook, sending stray drops down the milky skin over his arms, the muscles flexing and driving them further down. His hands grabbed the rim of the sink now, his face making contact with John's over the mirror.

"It's not that I'm scared of you or the proximity, I just feel sometimes like it is too much data to process all at once." John held his breath. He certainly hadn't expected to earn a confession this easily. He didn't dare to move so not to stop him.

"It usually takes me some time to decode what I feel or others for that matter and why and when there is too much to work through all at once, my brain just shuts down. And being without a functioning mind just makes me nervous."

The eyecontact was broken as Sherlock turned the tab and dived into the flowing water, causing it to run over his neck in thin lines of it, drawing patterns of moist on his body all the way to the band of his pants. The break in the conversation gave John the moment he needed to recollect himself. He decided to take the provided glimpse into the heart of the man he loved so much uncommented.

Sherlock switched off the light in the bathroom, leaving the room dark but for the flashing light of some neighbour's Christmas decoration, streaming in through the windows. John hadn't managed to get himself to draw the curtains, the view of the gardens lying peacefully covered in snow being too beautiful to shut out. He followed Sherlock with his eyes as the man shook off some remaining drops of water from his hair on his way to the bed before crawling in, wearing nothing but his pants. He felt long and warm fingers curl around his waist as he was drawn into a kiss, more demanding than he had expected it. His guts turned all into one warm knot when he let himself fall back onto the bed and felt Sherlock's body lower over his. His fingers caught in the wet strains of hair, Sherlock ran two fingers up along the middle line of his stomach before resting them at the pulse point on his throat. He knew he tested his reactions to his caresses, but felt too turned on to care.

 

"John?"

"Hm?" He had again been at the point off drifting into sleep, Sherlock's head resting on his bare chest. He took up most of the bed, lying diagonally across it, his bare legs dangling off the opposite side. 

"What is your opinion on underwear?"

"What?"

"Your opinion on undergarments."

"Am I supposed to have one? I usually wear it. That's all."

Sherlock gave an almost inaudible but distressed sigh in response. His fingers began drawing patterns on John's arm. Out of instinct he carefully began to search for the source of the peculiar utterance.

"Why is my preference of pants of concern to you?"

"Scientific interest."

"Ah. What are you researching then?"

"Checking the accuracy of an article I read recently."

"On the preference in underwear with males?"

"Pretty much, yes."

"Try to sleep, you're dangerously close to madness again."

"You sleep, I watch you." The body resting next to him moved until Sherlock's head lay next to his on the pillow. John got hold of one of Sherlock's arms and rested it over his stomach before finally drifting off. 

 


	34. Mrs Potter Finds a Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enough of the Christmas fluff, the game is back on :)

When he woke again, the sun had not yet risen in the sky, it was still covered in the peculiar grey shade of twilight so particular to cloudy days. The house lay silent, he noticed to his contempt. He tried to remove himself from under Emily's left leg that had somehow locked itself over him, drawing them so close together, he could feel her pulse on his chest. The strap of her nightgown had slipped down her shoulder and he fought the instinct to put it back in place because if she woke, he wouldn't get himself to leave this bed and get some work done. Luck was with him however, one of the first rays of light filtering through the trees' branches made her stir and turn the other way. He carefully slid out of bed and went down the stairs, avoiding the noisy patches on the stairs.

Mrs. Potter was not yet in and so he rummaged through the fridge, looking for milk for his tea.

"Good morning son." He jumped and bumped his head on the fridge's door.

"Dad. Why are you up already?"

"I could ask you the same thing." He began filling the kettle. "Habit, I guess. What about you?"

"Work."

"It's Christmas. Couldn't you get the day off?"

"Why don't you call North Korea and tell them it's my week off? They won't listen to me, I tried."

"That reminds me of the one time I was doing some undercover work over there. The electricity went every time I tried to call you for your birthday. It was your twelfth I think."

"Eleventh. And it was Sherlock. You were in China for my twelfth." He poured milk in two cups and began searching for tea bags.

"Son, I'm not sure you know that, but my job almost cost me my marriage once. Try to keep that in mind. She is a very nice girl and it would be a pity." Mycroft knew what his father was talking about. He would never forget the rows he overheard between them, he had always been anxiously trying to keep Sherlock out of the house so he wouldn't notice. One particularly bad night he had woken him and told him they would go on a treasure hunt in the forest behind the house. They had climbed out of the window and Sherlock had fallen asleep on a tree as they were waiting for the pirates to show up. Mycroft had to carry him home the entire way. By the time they arrived, he couldn't feel his arms any more but the fighting had stopped.

"There is a difference between you and us, though. We work together and I won't allow her to give it up, if she doesn't absolutely want to."

"I never asked your mother to stop work." He put down the cup only slightly too forcefully but it was enough to tell Mycroft he either stopped it here or went through the entire argument. Of course he hadn't asked her to stop, but there had been him and when he was old enough to leave for school, Sherlock came along.

"I know, dad." He finished his cup in one big gulp.

"By the way, I had a prolonged conversation with her mother last night. I think I managed to diffuse most of her anxieties about you."

"Thank you." He lead out a breath. "You didn't tell her about work though, did you? Because she thinks Emily is working at an ordinary office."

"Of course not." He winked at him.

"Sherlock said one of you is going out to Japan some time soon?" Mycroft nodded. 

"Sorry dad, you know I can't tell you anything about it."

"Yes, I know." He smiled and picked up the paper, leaving for the living room.

 

John saw the last few days passing before his eyes as he stepped into the shower. Once more, his life had been turned into a mad story of mayhem. He had broken off his marriage, spent days with Mycroft Holmes without wanting to throttle him, even getting close to befriending him and slept with a man. He would have to write that movie script at some point in his life. By all that seemed decent, he should have felt confused and worn out, but the opposite was true. He hadn't felt so gloriously alive since...since ever really. He grinned like a lunatic and couldn't stop himself from starting to sing under the luxurious spray of the shower, staying in longer than absolutely neccessary. When he opened the foggy glass door, he jumped, finding Sherlock leaning against it and grinning as well.

"Christ, don't scare me like that!"

"You're happy. I have never heard you sing before."

"All I want for Christmas, is you.." he giggled, turning as if he was dancing. Sherlock rolled his eyes but laughed as well. 

"Lunatic, that's what you are."

"Crazy for you..." he changed the tune but kept up the turning.

"What is planned for today then?" He asked, hoping Sherlock could hear him over the shower.

"Didn't you read Mycroft's intiniary? I think there is a copy on the desk."

"Seriously, your brother should get professional help." He picked up the paper in question and glanced over the time table.

"You've got another fifteen minutes before breakfast. So hurry up in there."

"Twelve!" The shower door opened. "And if you want me to speed up, get in here and help."

 

She was very pleased to see both of her sons so happy. This holiday seemed to be one of the very few moments in the last couple of years they allowed her to glimpse into their lives. It calmed her immensly to see they seemed to be doing well. Sherlock was more lively than she had seen him in a long time. She watched John tricking him into eating more than just overly sugered tea. Mycroft hid himself behind the papers but she didn't miss how he checked Emily's cup for its content again and again, refilling it and piling toast on her plate. There was something changed about him as well, he seemed to be radiating warmth constantly though he surely tried hard to keep up the usual facade that reminded her so much of his father. She also hadn't missed that there was a ring on Emily's finger that hadn't been there the day before. She glanced at the other mother's face and her smile told her she had noticed as well.

"Your grandmother has asked me to pass on her invitations for her New Year's party." She smirked as both her boys rolled their eyes.

"Come on, you should do the old lady the favour."

"I'll see what I can do." Mycroft turned the page of his newspaper and when his eyes caught on a headline, reached for his phone.

"Don't tell me you will be working today!"

"Very well, I won't tell you then."

"Mycroft!"

"Mum, the world doesn't stop turning just because you are having a family breakfast."

"It also doesn't stop turning just because you are not working for a day or two."

"Which is the problem exactly. Excuse me." He got up, already holding the phone to his ear.

 

They saw the Peersons' mother to the airport, she would spend some days with their grandmother before returning home. She hugged Mycroft and made Emily promise to call more often before walking through the security check. 

"Right, our mother wants to do some sightseeing, now that she is in town for once. I will drop you off at the office if you really insist." The old Holmes gave Jonah and Mycroft a very stern look. He had forced Mycroft to get one of the office cars and insisted on driving it himself after seeing some attempt of Mycroft to park it.

"It won't take long, I just want to copy some data onto my laptop so I can get some work done the next couple of days."

"Alright then. John, Sherlock, Emily, will you be going with us then?"

"Actually, I would prefer Sherlock to come with us, there is some material I would like him to look at. Mycroft was tiping into his mobile while talking.

"Emily? What about you?" The man sighed.

"I'll come with you if you don't mind." He smiled and looked at John who nodded as well.

 

The building was almost completely deserted, the janitor hurried to the desk from the back as he had been watching TV not expecting anyone to call.

"Mr. Holmes!"

"We won't be long, just going to be in Mr. Peerson's lab for a few minutes." The man swiped Mycroft's black card and the gate opened. The three men strolled along the deserted corridors, meeting no one, their steps echoing from the walls. They sat in silence in front of one of the computers waiting for it to boot. Sherlock recognized the clicking noise immediatly and was the first to raise his hands above his head, even before the person holding the gun had uttered anything.

"Alright boys, I'm sorry to spoil your day." It was a female voice, Sherlock's mind kept telling him it sounded familiar but he couldn't connect it to anyone yet. There was another one, her figure also looked familiar, though they both wore wool masks and were dressed completely in black. He looked at Mycroft to find out if he should say anything but his brother took over the negotiations immediatly, holding his hands perfectly still over his head.

"What do you want?"

"The same as you I guess. Your little friend here has decoded a programm my client is very interested in, so if you want to spend another Christmas with your little merry family, you will copy anything you have on the Moriarty case onto this flashdrive.

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Mycroft, you have always been a clever boy but lying is just not one of your better qualities. So don't get me angry and do as I tell you."

"Or else? If you shoot me you won't get anything from those computers. Even Jonah needs my verification to log on."

"There are a dozen of alternatives of what I can do to you. I rather enjoy hitting people and I am told I'm quite good at it. Besides, I could always just shoot your brother."

"I didn't know you are doing the hitting for free now, some of my colleagues will be delighted to hear it as you used to charge them walloping sums for this kind of treatment, Irene."

"Oh, so you do remember me. I'm delighted.You just get this one for free for the old times sake." She ran a finger along his jaw, before punching him into the face with full force.

"Ah, look at you Sherli, why are you blushing then? Ashamed that you didn't recognize me immediatly or just pleased to see me? Or could it be you didn't know about me and your brother? Don't worry, I didn't flirt with you just to get him jealous, I was indeed vaguely interested, little I knew you are more into married men."

"Stop it and get going, we haven't got all day." The other woman who had been silent so far pointed her gun at Jonah's head. "Copy it now, and then delete what you've got on your computer. Come on!"

"Just do it." Mycroft handed him his card to swipe and start the programm.

"You should call an ambulance, the janitor will need it. The last letter bomb was just a trial, this one was for real." She took the flashdrive from Jonah's hand and pointed Irene towards door.

"Merry Christmas Mycroft and pay my compliments to that little pet of yours. Pretty little thing, let's hope it stays that way."

 

 

They stood in front of Buckingham palace, John was telling Mrs. Holmes the story of how he got to own one of the Queen's ashtrays and she was giggling wildly at his lifely way of telling. Emily looked up from her guidebook when her mobile rang in her pocket. She was surprised when she saw it was Mycroft's landline.

"Hello Mrs. Potter."

"Miss Peerson, so sorry I have to call, but Mr. Holmes doesn't pick up." She sounded very excited.

"What happened?"

"I don't even know how to explain it, but there is a baby."

"A baby?" The rest of the party turned towards her as she uttered the words aloud.

"Yes, someone left her in front of the door, there is a letter to Mr. Watson."

"We're on our way back." She ended the call and closed her eyes, desperatly trying to organise her thoughts. Mary had abandoned the baby at Mycroft's doorstep. The trip to Janine's had been either a smoke bomb or had gone horribly wrong for her. She had to be in deep trouble to abandon her beloved child. She would have to relate the news to John as gently as possible.

 

"Just so I know what to actually tell her, does my sister know your exgirlfriend is a dominatrix now working for Moriarty?" Jonah was fiddling with his phone, sitting in the back of the ambulance that had actually come to treat the janitor, but had forced into having a look at the three men by Mycroft's supervisor who had showed up out of the blue once he had dialled 911.

"No, she doesn't and if you don't mind I'd prefer to tell her myself. Just tell them to meet us at home and to keep the doors closed. Sherlock, are you okay?" Sherlock nodded as the medic tried to check his pupils for signs of shock.

"How much have we actually lost, Jonah?" Mycroft held a packet of ice to his face, blood was still dropping from his nose.

"Those two might be professional about breaking into buildings, but they know little to nothing about computers. The files I copied are secured and can only be played on computers authorized by the office. Opening them on another computer will damage them terminally. Now, this doesn't make it impossible to read them, but it will give us at least a week's advance to whoever is interested in them."

"So if we get someone to meet the purchaser of the virus within the next week, we have a slight chance of still catching him offguard?" Sherlock shrugged off the blanket a medic kept draping around him.

"That's my humble assessment, yes." Jonah waited for the call on his phone to connect.

"I better get her to book some flights for you and John then." Mycroft strolled off to inform his supervisor about the changed situation.

 


	35. She Is Not Coming Back

John sat in Mycroft's living room, watching his daughter asleep in is arms. He had decided to simply not think about what he felt. He would simply try to survive. Around him, things had become hectic. Sherlock had called and explained what had happened at the office. Holding his child he had taken in the information without too much emotional reaction, other than Mrs Holmes who first had been angryily shouting at Mycroft over the phone, then upon hearing he had been hurt, starting to cry. Now she was fuzzing in the kitchen with Mrs Potter. Emily had gotten a neighbour's car and was rushing to his house to get at least the most neccessary supplies for Sarah. He couldn't get his head round how Mary could do this. the letter had explained close to nothing. It said she had decided to take a new job and to return to America. Nothing about if she would come back, nothing if she would come and get Sarah. Right now he felt that it woudl break his heart if she did. How could she leave the child in front of their door in the middle of winter. Though Mrs Potter assured him Sarah could not have been tere for more then ten minutes, he felt furious. He checked the infant's forhead again for any increased temperature, Sarah gave a gurgling sound in her sleep.

"Right here we are." Emily was balancing a box of baby clothes in the on hand, dropping a bag next to John with the other. "The flat is empty by the way, she has packed your stuff and piled it up in the living room. I talked to the janitor, you will have to move the rest by Tuesday, she has sold the house and the new owners arrive by Wednesday."

"How can she sell the house without my signature?"

"She probably took the liberty of signing it for you. I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty to get the people who will move my stuff from Baker Street to here, to pick yours up first and drop it there beforehand." She dropped on the couch next to him, exhausted.

"Thank you, you really have been of great help." He smiled when he saw the way she looked at Sarah.

"You want to hold her for a minute? I could use a cup of tea." He gently transferred the sleeping baby to her arms.

  


He heard the key turn in the door as he took the teabag from the mug. The three men looked shattered as they stumbled into the kitchen. Mycroft's left cheekbone was swollen, Sherlock was full of the usual nervous energy, Jonah was still trembling slightly. They dropped in the chairs around the kitchen table wordlessly.

"Can I read that letter from Mary?" Mycroft suddenly started without any transition. John didn't mind, he sensed the pressure Mycroft was under. It's on the table in the living room. Keep it quiet, Sarah is asleep." Mycroft nodded and shambled off.

"Which of you is willing to relate the tale to me then?"

"Irene and another woman broke into the office and forced me to copy anything we have on Moriarty onto a flashdrive. Mycroft got smacked in the face. I have secured the data, we basically have one week before the whole work we did was in vain." Jonah spoke mechanically.

"Which means we will be leaving in the next couple of days." Sherlock added silently.

"Right. That might be a problem." Sherlock glanced at him and John watched realisation hit him.

"She is not coming back, is she?"

"She sold the house and wrote she has moved back to America."

"I could always go on my own." His voice sounded weak and a little disappointed.

  


"Goodness, your face looks horrible!" 

"Mummy, it's nothing." Mycroft wasanxious to talk to Emily, before she heard about it from someone else in the house. His mother however had no intentions of letting go of him so easily.

"You should have taken security with you. I always told you not to walk around without any protection that much."

"Can we postpone this discussion until dinner? Go fuzz over Sherlock, he will be happy to scare you with the details." He slipped past her, into the living room. It had almost turned dark outside, being a rahter snowy day and someone had turned on the lights on the tree. She sat on the couch crosslegged, the child on her arm asleep. He quietly closed the door and walked over. She checked his face, he felt her eyes stop at his cheekbone for a second before running over the rest of him.

"Is she alright?" He carefully placed himself next to the pair, watching the tiny face moving in her sleep.

"I think so, yes." her voice a mere whisper.

"There is something I need to tell, you I'd rather you hear it from me than someone else." he watched her back straigthen slightly and her eyebrows rising slowly.

"Do you remember the story about that woman Sherlock saved form being beheaded in Iran? That dominatrix, I mean."

"Irene." She nodded.

"Yes, well, she broke into the office today to steal the data."

"Is she the one who hit you?"

"Yeah, well, yes. Listen, I knew her before back then. We went to uni together. We were kind of well , involved with each other and she seems to be cross with the way our last encounter ended for her."

"Mycroft, stop the office talk, what you are trying to say is, she is your exgirlfriend and she hit you in the face because she is angry you blew her cover and she got close to being beheaded."

"Yes, that's it in a nutshell." His face was burning.

"Alright."

"Alright?"

She smirked. "Did you expect me to get angry?"

"I don't know, it just seemed like I should tell you." He had actually expected more than one embarrassing question. She kissed his unharmed cheek. "I was waiting for at least one dark secret to creep up at some point. And when you looked so serious just now, I thought you would tell me you shot someone or something atrocious like that." Sarah moved and gurgled again. Both of them stopped in their movements, eyeing the child anxiously.

When she had safely fallen back asleep, Emily started to whisper again.

"John said there were two of them."

"Yes, and Sherlock and I are quite positive it's Mary." Emily gasped and the child stirred again. Mycroft put his hand on her arm and gave her an intense look.

"Don't tell John yet, I want to be sure before I do so."

"Mycroft! Don't leave him out again! If you keep something like that from him he will be furious. You know how it ended the last time he felt left out by the two of you!"

Mycroft sighed, closed his eyes and dropped into the pillow. "You tell him then. My limit of daily tragedy has been overstretched today."

"Okay, so I will. Here." She held Sarah out to him and Mycroft felt panic rise in him. It had been ages since he had held a baby, the last one being Sherlock, actually.

"She won't bite you." Her voice sounded much softer again as she placed the infant in his arm.

  


She found John in the study, he was waiting for a call to connect on his phone. She waited for him to notice her before adressing him.

"Did you try to call her?"

Yes. It's always just voicemail." His face had an expression she hadn't seen before, the muscles underneath all tense, eyes drawn together as if he was forcing himself to to concentrate.

"John, there is something you should know." She turned around, waiting for Sherlock to enter as well.

"Oh dear. What is it now?" The rising panic and annoyance lurked underneath the surface of his voice.

"I told you there were two of them." Sherlock's low voice filled the room and John's eyes fixed on him, his entire body tensing. "I only saw the other one with a mask and she only once spoke but I think I recognized her. Mycroft and I think it was Mary." The room grew tense wth the silence that followed. Not an eyelash moved on John, he was frozen to the spot.

"John, we haven't got any evidence yet, but it would fit in well with her leaving Sarah behind."

John put his phone onto the desk, he had been clasping it the entire time. Movement creeped back into him only slowly.

"I need some air." He quietly passed both of them.

"Want me to come?"

"No, I'll be right back." John pressed Sherlock's bicep as he passed him, not looking at him.

  


"Mycroft, I need some fresh air, is it alright if I leave Sa..." he was stopped midsentence by the sight that presented itself to him. Mycroft lay on the couch, his hair dishevelled and the sleeves of his shirt messily pulled up. Sarah lay on his chest, fast asleep, drooling onto the expensive shirt. "I guess that means yes." John smiled to himself and silently turned towards the hall again.

  


Sherlock passed the time lost in his mind palace. He lay on their bed in Mycroft's guestroom. When John left without him, he always became nervous. He knew he hadn't done anything wrong but he felt like he should be able to offer some comfort. John always did offer him comfort, but somehow he didn't manage to reutrn the favour adequately. It made him feel helpless and feeble. He ran through all the situations that John had needed him to comfort and tried to find his mistakes. It was nervwrecking work.

John had walked around the park twice not really paying attention to anything around him. He needed the physical excercise to organise his thoughts and feelings. He couldn't do it with people around, especially not Sherlock. He always feared to overreact and hurt the man who was so sensitive about emotional reactions anyway. Once he would have straightened out what he wanted and felt in his head, he would return and have himself comforted by Sherlock.

  


Mycroft was woken by a sound he couldn't really analyse or decode in his halfconscoius state. When the whimper turned into crying, he became aware of he baby sleeping on his chest. He moved carfully to sit up and look at Sarah. The child was looking at him, definetly not happy. 

"John, Emily?" There was no answer, he heard steps over his head, she probably was in the study. The crying grew louder. He sighed and took her into the kitchen. Relief spread through him when he noticed someone had already prepared a bottle of milk for her which he picked up and held out to Sarah. Her little eyes connected with his as the bottle entered her mouth. He felt still nervous, but was relieved the crying had stopped.

  


"You have to put her over your shoulder, or she won't stop crying."

"And how do you know?"

"I've seen people do it. Come on, hand her over." Sherlock took Sarah from Mycroft, gently tapping her back. He gave his brother a triumphant smile when she stopped crying. 

"Well done, Sherlock, she has thrown up all over your back." Mycroft giggled when he saw Sherlock shiver with disgust, becoming aware of the moist on his back.

"She probably is just very tired. Give her back and get changed."

  


John had not yetput his hand onto the doorknob when he became aware of the music floating from the house. It was the familiar sound of Sherlock's violin, playing a very ornated version of Mozart's "Sleep little prince." As he crossed the hall, his eyes fell on Sherlock, standing in front of the Chrsitmas tree, eyes closed, completely lost in playing his violin. Next to him Emily was slowly pacing up and down the room, Sarah in her arms. His daughter was fighting sleep. Her eyes fluttered closed, she was about to lose the battle. They only noticed him when he couldn't hold back a sob any more that had been building in his throat for a long time.

  


Sherlock was happy to stay up and watch Sarah sleep. There was a certain resemblance between John and his daughter in the way they looked when asleep. For a long time he didn't manage to turn his attention back to his laptop and the paragraph he was supposed to write, the little human being in the borrowed crib next to the desk fascinated him too much.

"I really hope you will like me when you are old enough to do so. I didn't want any of this for you, I hope you will understand one day." he whispered to the infant whose lips parted slightly in her sleep when she moved the tiny fists over her head.

  


John gasped when he woke and noticed it was almost noon. The other side of the bed had stayed vacant the entire night, the sheets still in place. He stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen just to find everybody there. Jonah and Sherlock were leaning over some papers Mycroft had spread onth kitchen table. He was sitting on the other side, his hands on his mouth, obviously thinking. Emily was holding Sarah, standing behind him and looking over his shoulder onto the documents.

"Oh, good morning John." Sherlock gave him a shy look, raising John's sympathy for being so dismissive the night before. He tried to undo some of the harm by running his hand down the man's long back but apparently causing only more confusion in him, two puzzled eyes trying to read his face from underneath black curls.

"Is that Japan?" He tried to give him an reassuring smile.

"Yes, it is indeed. Mycroft managed to set up a meeting with the purchaserfor next week, we'll pretend to want to buy shares in the virus so to speak. Or I will, anyway."

The utterance woke Mycroft, who had seemed gone until then. "Yes, that is something I wanted to talk to you about, John." 

"As much as I would like to go, and I really want to" he gave Sherlock a meaningful look, "I hardly can take Sarah with me."

"We surely all agre on that." Mycroft cleared hsi throat. "This is just an offer, I hope you will not feel pressured to accept it in any way."

"As if I have ever felt pressured by you not sitting in a black car." John smirked and Mycroft's face was moved by the hint of a smile.

"Well, I will be here and so is Emily. It's not like we are experts on childcare but keeping in mind that this should not take you longer than fourteen days at utmost... I mean to offer you to look after her for you until you are back." His voice sounded nervous and insecure in a way he had never heard it before nor believed possible. John looked at the two of them, the nervous Mycroft and Emily, biting her lip. Sherlock tried very hard to hide he was fervently hoping for John to agree.

"She looked after me quite alright, if that helps easing your mind." Jonah grinned.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

"I looked into it, I could shift things around a little so only either of us has to be at the office and Mrs Potter is more than willing to fill in in emergencies." John locked his eyes with Mycroft's searching for something he didn't know what it was.

"Are you alright with this, Emily? Seriously?" She nodded, shifting the baby from one arm to the other.

"Take your time to think about it."

"It's not that I don't trust you to look after her, it just seems a lot to ask."

"Let's say you look after my brother for me, I take your child." Mycroft's face was hit by a teatowel. He hissed, the swelling from the hit still visible.

"Alright then." John heard himself agree and felt relief spread within him.

 


	36. Back at the Tarnac

During the time she had worked for Mycroft, Anthea had received many strange messages from him. She had learned to not be surprised any more. When her phone rang some days after Christmas, she expected something around the lines of stepping in for Emily or help out at an especially strenous conference. What she didn't expect was Mycroft to enquire about her opinion on diapers.

"When do they leave then?"

"Tomorrow. Little did I know this baby stuff is so difficult." Mycroft was whispering, she heard the sound of other shoppers in the background. " How many do you think I will need of those? A hundred?"

"Ahm, you know what, why don't you tell me where you are and I will come and rescue you."

"Great, thank you!" She giggled when she heard his relief.

 

John stood between the boxes that contained what was left of his life. He turned helplessly in the living room of Baker Street. There wouldn't be time to unpack all this before he was to leave again. He gave Sherlock a desperate look as he heaved the last box onto the couch table, covering the last empty spot in the room.

"Here we are then, again." He looked at Sherlock, unable to comment any more sensibly on the fact that he had just moved back to Baker Street, back home.

"Just tell me if you want me to move any of my stuff." Sherlock shuffled his feet nervously, looking round.

"To where? The place is crammed. And Sarah's stuff isn't even here yet." He lifted his hands to his forehead, slightly shaking his head in despair.

Sherlock picked a box at random, beginning to open the lid. He pulled out jumpers and kitchen supplies. Mary obviosly hadn't had the time or intention to pack systematically. Sherlock stopped, holding some jumpers biting his lip. John could tell what he was thinking about.

"John, do you want your clothes back in your room?"

"You mean, do I want to keep my own room? Sherlock, don't get me wrong, but with Sarah around as well, it might be best if she and I stay upstairs. I know how you react when things get too much, it might be best you have somewhere you can go." He avoided Sherlock's eyes. 

"I don't want to sleep alone any more." John froze in his movement. He had never expected Sherlock to actually mind. 

"You can still sleep there with me whenever you like." He tried to sound reassuring but somehow his voice sounded higher than usual. Sherlock didn't answer but grabbed some pans and took them to the kitchen.

 

She found him surrounded already by an armada of other shoppers, eager to help. An elderly lady was tickling Sarah.

"Oh, you must be the mother then, she looks just like you." She smiled at the lady, not trying to correct her. 

 

"You have saved my life once more." Mycroft whispered as he placed a sleeping Sarah in her new crib at the study.

"For how long is this arrangement supposed to last?" 

"I expect them to be back within two weeks. But then, with Sherlock you never know."

"I heard about your little accident the other night." she chuckled.

"How come you heard about it, you weren't even at the office. Is this the kind of confidentuality one is to expect these days?" His eyebrows furrowed.

"Did you really expect the story of you being beaten up by your ex and the wife of your brother's lover to stay secret for more than two days? Half the office was waiting for you to slip into something that human for once." Her heart skipped a beat when she caught in his eyes for a short moment how very much she had hurt him with it.

"I'm sorry Myc, I shouldn't have told you."

"Why? If it is true, better to know." 

"You know that I don't think of you that way, don't you?"

"What way would that be?"

"As, you know...the iceman."

"Hm, I don't know, my life was easier and less dangerous when I still was...the iceman."

She watched him clean up some toys that had begun to spread over the floor of the living room, running his fingers almost affectionately over some of them. She never would have guessed, that this, being in the middle of a family, being connected to others was something Mycroft could have yearned but now his every fibre gave the intensity of his feelings away.

"You will do well at this, as you do at everything." She crossed her arms selfconsciously as he handed a stray plastic animal back to her own daughter. She wasn't granted an answer.

 

The packed bags arrived in the afternoon, being dropped off by the usual black car with instructions on what personal belongings they were allowed to add. John carfully checked his gun and munition and reached for a little stuffed dolphin he once had bought for Sarah on their honeymoon.

"Beware of sentimentality. Those things are the first to give you away." Sherlock was packing his own bag on he other side of the bed, placing his razor and a fresh bottle of shampoo into it. It were the first words he had spoken to him for an hour or so and it really began to wear John down.

"Oh, you rediscovered your ability to talk then? Praise the day!"

"Mabe you should make up your mind whether you want me to speak about what I think and feel or not. Because everytime I do, you just turn me down. And if I don't, you go all sarcastic." A tube of toothpaste was thrown into the bag with quite too much force.

"I already said I'm sorry. I didn't think you would care that much and would be grateful if you were left with some space to yourself. " John wrang the stuffed dolphin in his hands.

"Stop trying to do the thinking for me, you'll find you're quite busy doing your own share of it."

"You can be such an ass sometimes."

"So are you." Sherlock let himself fall over face first onto he bed, causing the clutter and bags on it to jump. Without even looking, he caught John's right hand and forcefully pulled him down as well, resting the conquered hand in his hair.

"You know that we will have to finish this by tonight, right?"

"Go finish it then." Sherlock rolled over, looking straight into his eyes.

"Maybe later." John heard his voice falter as it uttered the reply. He leaned down and kissed the rosy lips held out to him.

 

"Do you remember the beige jumper you used to own?" Sherlock rolled his head to rest between John's shoulder and his neck.

"I do indeed, but it vanished somehow after you..."

"I took it with me when I left. I wore it most of the winter. But it got ruined when they caught me. It still smelled of you, like this." He gently ran his fingers along John's throat.

"And did sentimentality give you away then?" 

"Almost. They figured that the jumper meant quite a good deal of something to me and knew how to use the fact."John swallowed hard and felt Sherlock's finger follow the motion.

"You still haven't told me the full story of back then, have you?"

"Why should I?"

"Because it's seems important stuff to know about you."

"You never told me about being shot."

"Because I know you have figured it out already anyway. I do know you wrote down all the babble I did in my sleep. I found the notes when I packed my stuff here." Sherlock didn't answer but traced the lines on John's face with the mere fingertip of his index finger. John was amazed over and over again how much gentleness and need for closeness erupted from Sherlock sometimes without any warning. It made him wanting to protect him from the world, hold him close and never let go. 

 

It was very early in the morning when the car pulled up at Baker Street. Mrs Hudson stood in the door as Mycroft nodded at the men and opened the back to store their luggage.There was hardly any conversation during the drive to the airport. Mycroft and Sherlock threw half sentences at each other, a conversation John was unable to follow. A heavy sigh escaped from John as the tarnac came into sight. He remembered his last time standing there, when he thought he had lost Sherlock again. Sherlock's hand found his and gently pressed.

They went through the gate and Mycroft swapped their phones, watches and passport for new versions. They both had been given new suits that made them look like business men, John felt uneasy in the unfamiliar garment. When the glass doors opened, the sun was blinding him. The snow was reflecting the light and gave the airplane an unreal aura. Mycroft followed them half the way to the plane. 

"Remember to meet your contact."

"I know."

"John, I hope you won't worry too much, I'll do my best..."

"I assumed nothing else, Mycroft."

The brothers avoided each others look before Sherlock finally gave in and quickly gave Mycroft an awkward hug. John shook his hand before Sherlock firmly put his hand on his shoulder and guided him towards the airplane. Sherlock nodded at the stewart before the doors were closed behind them. John chose a seat at the window, Sherlock immediatly occupied one next to him. They watched the city vanish underneath them in silence.

 


	37. Missing Shirts

Mycroft was awake long before her, but kept lying in bed next to her, giving the alarm clock a warning glare it stubbornly ignored. He dreaded the moment she would leave for work without him. The entire night, his mind had been running over all the possible catastrophes she could encounter. And most of all, Irene's threat kept echoing in his mind. The alarm went off, and Mycroft closed his eyes. He felt her shifting next to him, heard her hitting the snooze button. Her hands found his face and he leaned into the touch. 

"You can stay in bed until she wakes up again, you must have got up at least three times."

"I couldn't sleep anyway." He turned and leaned himself against the headboard to watch her crawl out of bed and grab some clothes from a box not entirely unpacked just yet. 

"All my shirts are creased, can I wear one of yours?" She didn't wait for an answer but hurried to his wardrobe.

"They are too big, at least two sizes and I do own an iron, you know." He was ignored but she blushed as she hustled past the bed again towards the bathroom.

Mr Potter was in the kitchen, slicing some fruit. "Good morning Sir. Is anybody going to be here for lunch today?"

"Just me and the little one."

"Mr Holmes, I could always stay in to watch her if you need to go to the office." She gave him a meaningful look. He assumed she had noticed his wary feelings towards actually staying at home and leaving work to someone else.

"Thank you, but she will do just fine." It sounded as if he tried to convince himself more than anybody else. Emily rushed into the kitchen, his blue shirt tugged into her trousers, hair still damp from the shower. He packed some files into her bag, she was picking fruit from Mrs Potter's prepared dish.

Her phone began to buzz on the kitchen counter and the day had officially begun. He surpressed a sigh and pressed a kiss to her temple, passing her on his way to the living room, his bowl of fruit and cereals in hand.

  


He noticed it when he went up to get dressed. It wasn't just the one shirt. He looked around, quickly taking in the rows of cupboards. It were at least three day's worth of shirts. How could he not have noticed before? 

"You're a girl, care to explain?" He gave Sarah in his arm a questioning look but she was busy chewing on her own fist. Emily's own clothes still waited to be unpacked in some of the remaining boxes at the end of their bedroom. Carefully putting down Sarah, he went over to open them. Maybe if he jsut got them ironed and stored away, the nicking would end. 

  


Sherlock opened his laptop and checked the mails of their fake company contact again. He had claimed to need the virus to spy on his competitors, they would pretend to work for a company producing weapons. He hoped such a business connection would be tempting enough for any criminal to risk a meeting. But so far, their contact had not answered to their request for a meeting within the next days. He sighed and freed himself from the opressing tie. 

"Seems like we have to find ourselves something to do for tonight, no reaction so far."

"I'm sure we will find something to do in Tokio." Sherlock noticed the small hint of excitement in John's voice and was eager to satisfy his lover's secret longing to get some holiday feeling out of this trip. He would oblige to anything John wanted to do after the appropriate amount of moaning and whining about it. 

"Any ideas, John?" He tried to sound bored.

"Ahm, you know I read about these special places for eating in the leaflet in the lobby. Thought this might interest you." Sherlock took the leaflet and raised an eyebrow at John.

"The pirate diner? Seriously?"

"You asked for my opinion."

"Ya, you're right, I only got myself to blame."

  


"Stop taking photos. This is ridiculous."

"Stop moaning or I will forward them to Mycroft." John was in a really good mood. He loved Sherlock in a pirate's hat. He looked around the place in awe. It was fully decorated as a pirate's ship and the waiters were going around the place on rollerskates with stuffed parrots on their shoulders. But what he loved the most was how Sherlock tried to pretend he was annoyed about having to be here. He had caught the satisfied look on the detective's face when he realized how much John was enjoying himself. But as it seemed, being dismissive about anything fun but illogical would be an act Sherlock wasn't willing to drop any time soon. So he would work with what he was able to get. 

They walked along the streets, John gasping at the colourful lights twinkling everywhere. Sherlock stuck out of the masses, being almost an entire head larger than most people passing them by, which earned him curious looks and admiring ones from some giggling girls. He didn't seem to mind but kept cataloguing the area in his head. 

"How can you drink that stuff? It already smells disgusting." Sherlock pulled a face as John bought himself a large vending mug of pink tea with little green jelly bean pearls in it from a vending machine which kept screaming at them in Japanese. John gave him an amused look, toying with the straw in his mouth.

"Wanna try?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes but accepted the mug, never to hand it back.

"It's not like doing something fun will immediatly rob you of your coolness and mysterious aura, you know."

"I'm just not good at enjoying myself." The utterance sounded sarcastic but John new better than to simply ignore the message implied.

"Why is that, Sherlock?" 

Sherlock shrugged. "My last attempts of taking my mind of thinking and work got me to rehab. After that I just tried to avoid...distractions in general."

"Christ, I have known you for years now but you never told me these things."

"You never asked." Sherlock kicked a piece of trash in his way.

"So basically, you think that if you allow yourself any kind of fun, it will turn you into a drug addict again?"

"I am a silly man, so better run as long as you still can." He gave him his widest fake grin, showing off his white teeth.

"I think I missed that moment some years ago." He tentatively ran his index finger along the back of Sherlock's hand and found it quickly caught in Sherlock's who pressed it with rather unusual force.

  


"I told them we will be at your grandmother's for New Year's Eve. I promised to hand in the report on the conference with Russia before we leave." Mycroft didn't answer but kept staring at his shirt on her over his dinner. His fork was pushing the food over his plate without him really noticing.

"Mycroft, did you hear me?"

He cleared his throat, still staring at the buttons of his shirt. "Why do you keep nicking my shirts?"

"I told you I didn't have an ironed one this morning." 

He leaned back, studying her face.

"I didn't think you would mind so much, sorry." Her voice turned slightly nervous.

"I don't. I just don't see why. They aren't your size, so it's not about the looks. Getting one of yours ironed this morning wouldn't have been a problem, I even offered to do it." He began drumming his fingers on the table, thinking. "I have been thinking about it all morning. So, tell me, why?"

"Ever considered sentiment?" She pulled a face and dropped the napkin on the table, ready to get up. "I'll just check on Sarah."

"No, you could have taken something more subtle if it was just that. My socks, my watch, whatever." He tried to pin her to her chair with his look but she avoided it and pushed back her chair.

"You think you can type up that report tonight or do you want me to do it?"

"No, I guess it's my turn." He folded his napkin in defeat.

  


"The holidays are always a nightmare. Once you got children, your life is over. If I have to spend another hour with my in-laws either me or them will leave the room severly harmed."

"God, I know what you are talking about. So grateful I will be out working from tomorrow on. Nothing takes your mind off your nagging wife than some proper chase." The two men at Mycroft's table laughed heartily. He dreaded having lunch with his staff for this very reason. He despised the way they talked about their families or partners sometimes. In his head he was counting backwards to the moment he was asked to comment along the same lines.

"So, Myc, how did you spend Christmas? I mean apart from that little family meeting at the lab." The other one snorted. Sometimes he felt like a schoolboy all over again who was trying to eat his dinner in peace. Little had changed since then, frighteningly little.

"The usual, my parents and Sherlock were over and Emily's side of the family."

"I couldn't imagine working with my wife. Myc, take my advice, get her pregnant so you have a reason to get her out of your office." Steve snorted, the other one not joining in this time, he had caught Mycroft's glare and swallowed his laugh.

"If your family is such a nuisance to you, why don't you just get divorced?" Mycroft got up, as calm as possible. The man searched his face and his features turned cold when he couldn't find any amusement in Mycroft's face.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure Mr Watson can recommend me one. And are you available as nanny? Heard you are building a second career in that field now."

"Common is not even coming close to describing you, Steve. But then you already were when you tried to press me to help you pass you final exam in Math, back at school. And as you are so keen to get away from home, I'll just put you down for the shift over New Year. I'm sure your mistress doesn't mind, Harry here is keen to help her pass the time." He picked up his tray and turned to leave before the anger would take him over entirely, content listening to the hissing through clenched teeththat started between the two.

  



	38. Ice

"I take it there is no chance I can convince you to try karaoke?"

"John, the chances of seeing my brother dance stark naked on a table are significantly higher."

"That's a no I guess."

"You guess correctly." Sherlock was not taking his eyes of the city lights flashing by as they were sitting in a taxi back to the hotel.

"I rather liked the evening anyhow." John was in a good mood, though he didn't exactly know why. The hidden smile his confession produced in Sherlock's reflected face in the window increased the feeling even more, however.

"Tomorrow at eight. We are invited to a party." Sherlock returned the phone to his pocket.

"A party? Seems odd, don't you think?"

"Indeed."

 

He caught both of them sleeping on the couch. He leaned over the back and pressed a butterfly kiss to Emily's cheek. She was wearing headphones which he plugged from her ears before carefully taking her phone from her hands. "How can you possibly sleep with music on?" he whispered to her, it gained him a stir in her. Taking the phone with him to the kitchen, he couldn't resist to plug in the headphones. 

First it was a cacophony of sounds, then he slowly made out the meaning and as it dawned on him, he dropped into the next chair.

 

Sarah's babbling and Mycroft's low voice answering her woke Emily from her nap. She rubbed her eyes until she could make them out clearly, sitting on the floor opposite the couch.

"Rise and shine my love, or should I say my fair lady?"

It took her sleepy mind a moment to make sense of the uttering but when it did, she felt the blood rushing to her face.

"Emily, I'm at a complete loss, what the heck is going on here?" His voice sounded soft and she felt guilty for the worry resonating in it. Explaining would potentially get quite messy however. She sighed and lifted herself into a sitting position, looking at him. There was no point in telling only half truth, he would catch her quickly anyway.

"When I was at the office the other day, I heard Steve comment on my accent. He said you probably picked me up at some cheap night club or a charity shop judging on my clothing and the way I speak."

She waited for him to answer but there was nothing for a long time. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he finally produced a sound that sounded a little like bastard. His face changed to something she hadn't seen before and for a moment she feared he was angry at her.

"Why did you not tell me?" He choked.

"Because it doesn't really matter and you worry about me anyway. I don't need you to defend me." She punched one of the pillows in desperation.

"And because it matters so little to you, you try to change your pronounciation and steal my clothes?"

"It's not that. I like your shirts because they smell of you. I just..." her voice gave in and her sentence ended in a strange strangled sound. She fought hard against the tears rushing to her eyes.

"When you got attacked, I just got so scared and somehow I felt better when...this is completely stupid."

"You're scared?" 

"Of course I'm scared! That something could happen to you, it just suddenly seemed so real."

She only heard him walk towards her, she hid her face in one of the cushions. There was no way she would be able to stop the inevitable crying now.

"So reality has hit home. I'm looking forward to see how you will wind yourself out of this mess. But then you are the smarter one." The Sherlock in his head was strolling along the coastline again, always dangling one foot over the rim, into the depth underneath.

"Could you just stop that, please, it doesn't help my thinking." He tried to pull his brother away from the edge but his attempts only encouraged Sherlock to attempt even more demanding stunts. The waves underneath had turned a threatening grey, their roaring numbing his ears.

"So, let me summarize your situation for you. Emily isn't coping with you being in danger, you're not coping with the pressure of her being worried and you really will have to do something about this whole Steve issue." Sherlock was balancing on a stone, lifting one of his legs into the air, then stretching his arms out to find some balance. Mycroft felt sweat building on his face.

"I am coping and could you please stop these follies now!" He didn't know why it made him so nervous, he knew that this was just in his head and even if Sherlock fell, he would be back unharmed seconds later. But still the feeling raised his pulse higher and higher.

"If you were coping, you wouldn't be here right now, hiding from the next panic attack." The words made the sky turn black above them, a massive thunderstorm building out of the nothing.

"I'm singing in the rain! Just singing in the rain!" Sherlock had turned into a teenage version of himself, turning wildly around himself with the rain hitting heavily on his face.  His young face was pale, dark shadows under his eyes. he had looked like this when the addiction had been at its worst. No flesh to the bones, the clothes hanging from an alive skeleton.

"I can't get rid of the idea that you are trying to tell me something with this." He clasped his arms around himself, now wet to the bones. 

"Just let go, Myc,for once just let go and admit you can't control everything. You will lose her if you don't finally let go and go with it."The rain turned even heavier, the hits of the massive drops began to hurt as if someone was shooting little pieces of paper on him with a rubber band. He turned to see if there was a door somewhere he could take to return to the hallway of his mind palace, but the wind was blowing so heavily, he couldn't make a single step in the direction he assumed the door to be. He closed his eyes and forced his legs to move in the direction of the cliff. He opened them when the tip of his shoes did not touch the firm ground anymore. Sherlock stood next to him, both eyebrows raised, the rain somehow didn't seem to wet him. Mycroft leaned forward, fixing his eyes on his brother next to him. He felt how the centre of gravity of his body slowly shifted towards the black nothingess in front of him. His stomach fell towards his knees when his feet lost contact with the ground and then, when gravitiy finally got hold of him, he was falling into a thick blackness that shut out all of his senses. Wind was rushing past his face, it felt like warm fingers caressing his cheeks. The spray of the ocean underneath appeared, white and threatening, but then turning into white stars, he was falling through a cloud of white stars before hitting the ground that was soft like a pillow, hugging him and comforting him. 

Lying on his back for a while and enjoying the high the fall had produced, he spread his fingers over the surface underneath him. It was cold to the touch. His breath was cristallizing upon leaving his mouth. Slowly he realized he was lying on a vast plate of ice, looking into the sky, the stars had turned into snowflakes, he watched them dropping and dancing around him. 

"What is this supposed to mean?" He spoke because he was aware of another being close by without knowing who it was. When the red lips appeared above him, blocking his sight of the snowflakes, he recognized tem immediatly.

"You shouldn't be here any more."

"I know, what does it tell you that I'm still here?"

"I'm not scared of you Irene, and I will not allow you to destroy what I have gained for myself." The ice underneath them gave a sighing sound that rumbled deep and sounded like a dragon awaking deep in the earth.

"How do you want to protect her? There is so many people around who don't believe you will make it. What will you do to protect her from Steve and people like her mother? She won't ask you for help but once she feels alone, she will slip away from you, inevitably."

"I will stay with her, I will make it work somehow."

"Feeling, so much feeling. You're treading thin eyes here, make yourself vulnerable." She smiled at the pun, a smile he didn't answer.

"I don't care, I don't care any more." He held her gaze, her face still hovering over him. She licked her red lips before they turned into a sly smile.

"You didn't care when you fell for me, it broke your heart, you didn't recover for years."

"This is different." Speaking became difficult, he felt the ice moving underneath him. The creaking sounds grew louder, he felt the vibration on his back. The water sneeking up through the creaks was warm and spread along his cold skin.

 

"I'm on my way Mr Holmes." Mycroft took a second to return from his mind palace. He turned his head and nodded at Mrs Potter who cast a worried look over the scene. They sat on the couch, he had carefully wrapped Emily in several layers of blankets, hoping the psychological effect to stop the trembling. His pyjama top was wet where Emily's head was resting. He realized quickly that there was no point in talking about it to her tonight, by the time she had confessed how much the attack had frightened her, she had been reduced to a weeping bundle of tears and Mycroft felt desperate and helpless himself.

"Icecream?" She gave him an odd look but nodded and surpressed some of the crying, rubbing her face with one of her sleeves but the tears kept falling in silence. Returning, he pulled her up to sit close and wrapped one arm around her, the bucket of ice cream between them. Her face looked red and swollen, she was still sniffing.

Halfway through the bucket he came up with the courage to actually turn to the elephant in the room once more.

"I could just have Steve kicked out, you know." 

"And that would save the problem how exactly? I will still be the odd one around. If it isn't Steve pointing it out, someone else will. You talk differently, you dress differently you even seem to walk differently. And the thought of the stay at our grandmother's just creeps me out. That Olivia is just so...flawless."

An image of young Olivia covered in her own vomit after a secret meeting with him and Sherlock and some other friends in his grandmother's attic suddenly popped up before his eyes and he slightly had to shake his head to get rid of it.

"Matter of perspective.Listen, if it makes you fell better, we will at least fix that shirt problem tomorrow."

There was no answer for some time, Emily playing for time by chewing on a big lump of ice cream.

"You really think this is silly, don't you?" The tension was not in her voice but in the muscles on her back, tensing slightly against his chest.

"By no means, no. I think I understand." He quickly turned his face to hide his panic about how much her her troubles unsettled him.

"Mycroft?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you scared then?"

He closed his eyes trying to organise everything raging in his head into a coherent sentence.

"Mostly because I think that you will leave me one day because you can't stand it any more."

"As long as there is ice cream, I'll muddle through." He smiled and nuzzled his nose into her hair.


	39. Well Done, Brother Mine

The building was one of the newer skyscrapers in the neighbourhood with a glass front shining blue from the integrated lights. The porter gave them a bored look when they pushed their invitation over the counter towards him and called the elevator for them. Its glass doors opened with the sound of a bell and Sherlock softly pushed John inside. He pushed the button for the the highest floor before turning towards him, studying his face. John was calm but concentrated, he kept his eyes fixed on the display that was counting the floors as they rushed by. Sherlock planned to talk to as many people as possible, making mental pictures he could later draw and send to his brother. In his bag Sherlock carried about a quarter of a million dollar he was allowed to offer in return for the contact details of the owner of the code. It made him nervous that they hadn't been searched for weapons, it either meant that everybody was assumed to wear one anyway or that these people were not criminals, making the whole venture rather pointless.

"Ready?" John stretched his arms when the elevator slowed down. Sherlock nodded and the doors opened.

 

The floor was crowded with people talking over some background music. The windows looked over the city. A hostess in a very short dress came over and offered Sherlock drinks from her tray smiling and giving him meaningful looks. John fought hard not to roll his eyes at her. Instead he strolled further into the room, scannign the people for faces somehow familiar from earlier cases. He knew that Sherlock probably had a plan and he would only be here to back him up. From the other side of the room he kept his eyes on the tall man that had determinedly aimed at a group of men sitting in a corner, he was now talking to someone that looked like a bodyguard. The well trained man gave him another look before letting him pass towards the lounge. And then he saw him. The face had burned itself into his brain. Back when Sherlock was a witness against Moriarty, John had felt like someone was following him. Back then he had blamed the feeling on nerves and things were too hectic that he could have adressed the topic with Sherlock. But now, looking at the bold, brawny face, he was certain he had also seen him in the audience at the trial. Judging from his looks, the man looked more like someone managing the dirty work for a criminal like Moriarty. However, the fact that he was sitting here probably proved he was more important than he had thought. John tried to catch Sherlock's eye, to give him a hint he was talking to the wrong person, but Sherlock's back was turned towards him. When one of the hostesses tried to pass him again without paying him the compliment of noticing him, he stumbled into her and the tray with glasses crashed onto the floor. The noise and clatter were enough to stop any conversation in the room and make Sherlock turn. The woman was talking to him in Japanese, waving a towel at him he took to wipe some of the liquid from his suit not breaking the eye contact with Sherlock. He intently kept the gaze, shifting it then towards the man he had recognized. Sherlock followed his eyes without breaking the conversation with the men to his left. A single tip with his index finger on the armrest indicated he had understood.

Some other waiters appeared and tried to stir him towards the kitchen, talking without interruption at him in Japanese. John hestitanly followed them and began rubbing the stains with water and soap. He hadn't been gone for more than five minutes but when he returned to the room, Sherlock and the four men had disappeared. A curse escaped him and he began searching the room with his eyes for doors he hadn't noticed yet. He suddenly realized that the waiters were watching him. The kitchen had been a trap to divert him. He felt sweat building on his forehead. The only thing he could do was to secure their way out, so he slowly made his way towards the elevator, leaning against the wall in order to press the button unnoticed. A scream went through the crowd when smoke began streaming from the kitchen into the room. The sight quickly was blocked by he thick smoke and people were pressing tissues to their faces as breathing became harder. John coughed and covered his nose and mouth with his jacket's sleeve. Suddenly he felt his hand grabbed by familiar fingers that pulled him further into the smoke.

"Run!" Sherlock pulled him past the elevator towards a wall where he began running his fingers along a mirror. John knew better than to ask what he was doing and the question answered itself when the mirror gave in and opened the passage to a staircase. Sherlock kept holding on to his hand, grabbing the empty bag with the other one. Quickly other people began using the staircase to escape as well. It took them an eternity to reach the ground floor where Sherlock pulled them into a corner waiting for the crowd to pass them by. Teh four men were some of the first to arrive, they went straight for the exit and got into a waiting car, the engine started before the doors were even closed.

 

"That went rather well." Sherlock as panting.

"He must have recognized you, that man was in the audience at the court."

"Yes, he did. The content of my bag and a few quiet words about hte future of his wife and sonwere enough to pull him over. He agreed to watch any activities going on if Mycroft can get his family out of the country safely. We are close to Moriarty now, I was able to agree with them, they will arrange a meeting for our assumed boss with the owner of the virus. In return they expect us to provide some weapons and be prepared to fullfil future favours."

"Who will go and meet him? We can't possibly go. And are you sure this guy is trustworthy?"

"That is going to be Mycroft's problem. He usually finds ways to make people keep their promises."

 

John watched Sherlock's eyes fighting sleep in he cab. Once a case was closed, the energy usually quickly drained from the detective. John felt exhaustion come to him as well. His legs hurt from the thousands of stairs they had been running down. The time when he had been working at the clinic had not been beneficial to his shape.

By the time they reached Sherlock's hotel room, the lean body was no longer able to support itself. Sherlock leaned against the wall so not to fall over while John was fighting with the look on the door. The lights of the street beneath were dancing on the white walls of the dark room when John shifted Sherlock onto his bed rather clumsily before dropping next to him. Immediatly an arm was pulling him against Sherlock's body and he felt his breath against his collar.

"Pass me my phone." John stretched to reach for Sherlock's phone on the other end of the bed. He stopped himself when he found himself thinking about why exactly he was obliging since, Sherlock would have been closer to it himself. It was one of the paradoxes of their relationship he avoided to think about too much. He watched the long fingers press the digits into the phone. Mycroft's name appeared on the display. Within seconds the call was answered. The deep baritone of Sherlock's voice made it impossible for him to stay awake. He drifted into sleep only half aware of the rather civilised conversation between the brothers.

 

"Well done, brother mine." Sherlock heard the relief behind the ironic phrasing of the utterance when he told his brother about the events of the night.

"I'm sure John would like me to ask how Sarah is doing and how you are doing."

"Tell him Sarah is perfectly fine, she has made her first attempt of rolling over today. I captured it on video, for monitoring reasons, obviously."

"I'm sure he will be delighted for sentimental reasons, I'll tell him as soon as he wakes up." Sherlock tightened his arm around John had began to snore.

"We'll be leaving for your granny's tomorrow night. So I won't be answering calls before the day after. Do you have any plans for the night people start the new calendar."

"I'm sure John will force me to take part in some kind of festivities. He so very much enjoys doing things the way they are done."

"The way things are done is becoming quite a bit of a problem back here." Sherlock didn't answer but waited whether his brother actually planned on elaborating.

"Emily ran into Steve the other day."

"Is he playing his little games again?"

"Pretty much so, yes. It really got to her, she is deeply unsettled, cried all night."

"I hope you don't expect me to offer advice on crying women, it's John you want to talk to about these things."

"No, I... think I dealt with it at least partly."

 

Though Sherlock was unspeakably tired, he lay awake for quite some time, wondering if John would want him to wake him up and remind him he was not sleeping in his own bed. His selfishness, however, got the better of him and he lost himself in the warmth of John's body pressed against him. His thoughts began to wander back to his brother and he felt awkward about not being able to offer some kind of comfort once more. He had an idea of how Emily must be feeling, often enough it had been him feeling inadequate next to his brother. And he knew that his brother was just as desperate to be of help to her as he had always been to him. The many times Mycroft had lectured him on how avoid confrontation with people around him still played vividly in his mind. He had ignored the advice as he had always seen himself as something of an outcast, the one responsible of pointing out everything that was wrong about people and the way they behaved to everybody. John turned in his arm, his face now resting against his chest. Sherlock shifted him so he could use his phone with both hands. He was tempted to write to Emily, though he feared he would once more get it wrong and mess everything up. His fingers ran absentmindedly through John's blond hair. Whether his John had ever felt that way? He had no idea. But then Baker Street was a very different environment from the office and Mycroft's town house. He had long broken with anything related to his family and the world connected.

 

"Sherlock, are you serious about this? The place is a dump." Mycroft lifted an unspeakable object leaking some liquid through the newspaper it was wrapped in. Sherlock watched him stalk through his new flat, picking up things at random and carefully replacing them with disgust. Sherlock had no energy to get into a fight about it. His head was splitting and he needed something to stop his head from spinning. But there was no way he could get high as long as his brother was still insisting on checking in on him.

"Why is it of any concern to you where I live? I'm alive, you saw me, just get lost."

"Mummy really would be alright with paying the missing amount towards the rent for a more...suitable flat." Mycroft picked up one of Sherlocks jumpers but dropped it again when a yell form the adjacent flat made him jump.

"I don't want her money and I don't want her to call or anything. She made her opinion on me quite clear."

"How did you expect her to react? You dropped out of uni again and you obviously got back in the habit of ...what is it this time by the way? Back to cocaine?"

"She kicked me out and I won't make her feel better by accepting her money or granny's. I'm fine." Time was running out, he felt his fingers starting to tremble.

"That is the lie of the century." Mycroft's phone rang. He reached for it but then ignored the reflex, giving Sherlock a pleading look.

"Is there any way I could convince you to come with me?"

He had laughed hoarsly at his brother. He felt horrible but he had decided not to go back. He would not become respectable like Mycroft, he would not make his father proud. He would no longer sit through family dinners making conversation, praising Mycroft for his genius and his quick career, he would no longer sit through them feeling the disappointment of his parents about him burning in every look.

"Fine. Go waste your life, go ruin that brain of yours." Mycroft picked up his umbrella and turned towards the door. He checked the hallway for fighting neighbours before silently closing the door behind him. Sherlock could tell from the missing footsteps that he lingered on the other side for some half minute before finally letting go of the door handle and walking down the hall. He pressed his head against the doorframe. He felt incredibly lonely. For a moment he thought about running after Mycroft and just get in his car, let his brother once more sort everything out. His vision blurred from the headache. He reached for the hidden drawer in the kitchen cupboard.

 

It was another snore from John that brought him back to the room. He gave the head at his chest another pet before picking up his phone once more. 

 

You have always succeeded in taking care of me and sorting things out, eventually. I know there is nothing in the world you can't be trusted with, getting it right. What are you scared of? SH

The answer took a few minutes to arrive and it caused a little smile on Sherlock's face.

Thank you, brother dear. MH

 

Delete this message. And if anyone ever asks me, I will deny ever having said that. SH

 

Obviously. MH


	40. Happy New Year Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have been watching too much Jane Austen lately so I apologize in advance if this chapter is kind of drifting off into something very cheesy. Sorry, couldn't help it :)

Anthea had given him the adress of the shop, had told him it was where she got all of her things. He had first thought about simply taking her to his own tailor but then decided against it. After all, it might be better to leave it to someone more specialised in women. Emily hadn't spoken much through the entire drive and had only smiled at his attempts to strike up conversation. Though she did her best to hide the tension within her, it showed in the way she fiddled with everything that got in the reach of her fingers. At the moment she was toying with is key, running them through her fingers, much to the delight of Sarah who giggled everytime they landed in her lap with a rattling sound. He grabbed the keys when she dropped them again, getting hold of her hand as well, pressing it and stroking the back with his thumb.

He took an instant dislike towards the shop assistant when they entered the shop. He had a strange haircut that forced him to shake his head everytme he wanted to see cleary because the hair kept covering his eyes. The place smelled like a truck loaded with rosewater had crashed into it and the background music was a test to his ears. 

"Welcome, how can I help you today?"

"I need some new things for work."

"And a dress or a dinner party tonight." Mycroft tried to catch the eyes of the assistant but the waving made him dizzy and he gave up the attempt. He retreated towards some chair the assistant had almost pushed him into. 

He watched as Emily was forced into at least twenty different types of skirts and trousers, the look on her face reminded him Sherlock being forced to talk to someone. She clearly was not enjoying this. When the relentlessly headshaking assistant had run off to get another stack of clothes, he dared to get up and looked at her in the mirror.

"Any decisions yet?"

She pointed to a stack of clothes on another chair.

"Can you get us out of here?" He couldn't help but laugh.

"God, yes."

 

"Mycroft, don't tell me you are serious. Can't you just put on some proper music. I surely will not listen to that the entire drive." His mother had started talking the moment he had opened the door of the car. He frowned and stopped the recording of a conference on peace keeping they had listened to.

"Where is your brother?"

"Not coming."

"What? Why?"

"I told him to call you, he's still in Japan for that case."

"You know exactly he never calls."

"Son, I'll be driving, you are a danger to yourself and everbody else when driving."

"Dad, I drove here without any problems, that's an one hour drive!"

"This is not up to discussion, get out of the driver's seat." Mycroft banged the door behind him and crawled into the back seat next to Sarah.

"She looks alright." His mother tickled Sarah and began pulling faces.

"You thought I would have manged to kill her by now? Charming."

"That's not what I meant. Son, why are you in such a foul mood?"

"Where do I even begin..." He grabbed a paper he had hidden under his jacket and established a wall between himself and the rest of the party. 

 

John sniffed the box and then held it out to Sherlock who smiled and nodded. They had agreed to bring Mrs Hudson some tea upon returning.

"Sherlock, there is something we need to talk about."

"Which is?"

"Since Sarah is going to live with us now, we will have to find a way to keep the flat more childfriendly."

"I already talked to the people at Bart's, since I'm doing that paper now they agreed I could use their facilities. However, I don't think I can keep all the experiments out of the house."

John sighed. "I was wondering if it wouldn't be for the best to turn your bedroom into a work space and for to you move in with me after all."

Sherlock didn't answer.

"It just seems...logical?" John was sweating now, only realizing now how much he had hurt the man with his earlier suggestion to keep seperate rooms.

"You propose such an arrangement because it is logical?"

"Yes, I guess so. Not exclusively of course."

"What is the other part then?"

"Goddamnit, alright, I like sleeping in the same bed with you, I was a jerk back when I said that. Please, Sherlock would you please move in with me?"

Sherlock picked up another box of tea from the shelves and sniffed it, closing his eyes. 

"Alright."

"Alright what?"

"If that is what you want, I will move into the same room."

"Right."

"Right."

 

For some reason both of them shyed away from reoccupying the little cottage at the edge of the park, leaving it to the older Holmes on their own. Emily felt an instant lump of melancholy building in her throat as she remembered Sherlock's crouched figure wandering aimlessly through the garden. It took them a while to make their way to the main house in the snow, the surroundings were now completely changed by it. The white cover gave the house a ghostly appearance, a mood that fit Emily's state of mind quite nicely when she noticed the other cars already parking in front of the mansion. For some reason she had a feeling of something bad that was going to happen, or mabýbe it was just a remeniscent of the events she connected to the house so far. The welcome was as warm as the last time, Olivia kissing Mycroft's cheeks and shaking her hand before immediatly starting to complain that she had not been able to get hold of tickets for some concert the Royal Albert Hall. She saw Mycroft resisting her gentle pull towards the drawing room, her long and slender fingers playing along his sleeves, always just very light touches to the back of his hands. Saying it annoyed her would have been saying too much, it was more of a constant itch she was unable to scratch. She finally decided on dissolving the awkward situation and passed them by into the drawing room, Sarah muling in her arm.

 

Dinner was to be before the other guests would arrive, her neighbour at the table intimitated her by announcing the astounding number of more than a hundred invititations that had been sent out. Looking at him closely she could tell he was a member of the family, he shared the characteristics of the brothers but was slightly older, going bold from the front of his head to the back, a frame of now grey curls left round the shiny top of his head. Mycroft had somehow ended up at the other end of the table but he never missed to meet her eyes with a smile when she looked down the long banquet table.

"Granny told me you have moved in with Mycroft. That seems a rather quick development. But keeping in mind you have that daughter of yours to look after, it might be convenient for you." Olivia lifted another spoon of soup to her mouth not taking her glance of Emily's face.

"She is not my daughter. She is John's. We just take care of her until he and Sherlock are back from a case."

"Oh, that is rather generous of you. I could never manage that, work and a child. But then the fashion industry is just crazy, all that working at night and the travelling. I envy you your office job sometimes." She gave her listening neighbours a look that conveyed how very much she hated her job. "But then again you have to go with what you are good at."

Emily was glad when another guest took over the conversation and asked about the last trip she had done to Dubai. She wouldn't have known how to answer to that without conveying too much detail about their work and she didn't know how much the others of the family actually knew about Mycroft's work.

"Keep your head up. She does that to everyone."A young man seated opposite her leaned in and winked. She gave a grateful nod and tried to concentrate on the soup in front of her.

 

Mycroft found himself staring out of the window when the stream of guest began to float the house. They stepped over the staircase into the golden light pouring from the great entrance onto the snow at the entrance. He remembered many of these occasions, but usually it would have been Sherlock standing next to him, watching them arrive in silence. He kept up the tradition even with his brother so far away. It had been the strangest of years in a sequence of crazy ones and about almost everything was changed to when he had been standing here exactly one year ago. For once he felt obliged to aknowledge that people were not entirely childish when feeling sentimental at a moment like this. He covered his eyes and smiled slightly embarrassed about his own emotional state. "Happy New Year, Sherlock." He whispered, gazing into the falling snow and the sky covered in stars above.

He turned when he heard the door behind him open. She looked like she had never done before. The pale blue dress was glittering in the dimmed light of the fireplace behind her, the seam producing an oddly comforting sound sweeping over the floor as she walked towards him. He felt like touching her would cause her to burst, a delicate soap bubble fractioning light and turning it into an array of rainbows. In this moment he felt like he could see every moment in time at once. His past was rushing by in front of his eyes and the future seemed one long golden path leading from here into eternity. The voices and laughter that trickled into the room sounded like they were the background noise of something great to come, as if once he would step outside the darkened, quiet study, life was about to really begin once more over.

"Everyone is looking for you." She spoke silently as if she had sensed the importance of he moment for him or at least picked up the strange celebratory mood that held him in firm grip. He answered with a smile and a nod.

"But I have always just been looking for you." Her arms twitched as she felt conscious about his comment, her eyes searching his face and finally finding rest in his, it set off a stream of warmth that filled him from top to bottom.

If you had asked other guests about moments they remembered from this evening all those who were witness to the arrival of Mycroft Holmes and his companion were bound to remember. There was a sense of determination and ernesty, of trust and connectedness about the way the two looked at each other, the way they held each other's gaze before beginning to dance that made everybody hold their breath for a second or two, observing in awe. They began to dance quite unaware of anyone else, even unaware of the existence of the world around them. It was as if they moved among the mortals of the world but did not belong there, as if they had appeared here out of accident, a vision of delight.

Mycroft felt waiting for panic to rise but there was none, his mind was filled with golden light and the feeling of falling, falling eternally.

The evening passed him by, he was caught in his own little bubble, though he smoked cigars and even joined a game of cards, listened to the funnly little ideas and opinions people held about the world. So it was no wonder he missed the fair haired head, the familiar figure in an unfamiliar dress in the crowd. Under any other circumstances he would have picked up Mary in the crowd instantly.

 


	41. Blood on the Roof

"I'm afraid I will be calling it a night at this. Mr Holmes, as I won't remember it tomorrow, please remind me not to play cards against you ever again. I have no idea how I will explain my losses to my wife tomorrow." Mycroft extinguished the remains of a cigar and put the cards back into a stack while smiling sympathetically at his opponent who was slightly swaying from the whisky he had consumed. It had been quite an easy game due to the intoxication levels of his grandmother's neighbour. He would slip him back some of the rather large amount of money in some way within the next few days. But right now he was anxious to free Emily from the grip of his father, both of them bending their heads over a book in the study.

"Oh dear, not that old stuff, dad." His father looked up as he entered, his glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"I have just been showing her how adorable you both were when you were still young and easy to handle." The photo album was opened at a picture that showed Mycroft and Sherlock in front of their grandmother's house, Mycroft in his school uniform, all resereved and well composed, one hand resting on his brother's shoulder, a child with a beaming smile, unruly curls, sitting on a bike, knees showing bruised and muddy underneath the shorts. The next ones were mostly Mycroft on his own, at award ceremonies at school, holding trophies of several debating competitions and one of his first day at Oxford.

"I was proud when he decided to follow my footsteps careerwise. I always knew he would outshine everyone in it, but then he did in everything he ever started. I'm glad at least one of my boys turned out relatively normal. Sherlock just always has been so sensitive, we constantly worried, Mycroft never cried about anything and always coped no matter what was thrown at him." Mr Holmes turned towards the next page but had lost his audience as Emily and Mycroft gave each other a look that spoke volumes.

"Dad, I think mummey has been looking for you." Mycroft cut off his father's speech midsentence as he was about to go into detail about Mycroft being at top of the class every but one year. The man muttered to himself and strolled off to find his wife if he wouldn't get distracted on the way. Emily kept turning the pages of the book back and forth. 

"You never smile in any of these."

"As my father said, I never cried, I never smiled, I just coped." He gave the book a bitter look before turning towards the shelves, reading through the titles of the books. She watched him, his back turned towards her.

"What happened that one year you didn't make it to the top of class?" His movements stopped and he turned to face her, arms crossed in a way he did when informing someone of a decision reached without allowing the to start a discussion about it. She held his gaze as he looked into her eyes for a few seconds before answering.

"I thought about giving it all up that year. It was the one before my final year and things just got a little much sometimes. The school ordered me to see a counsellor as I was having panic attacks back then. I was thinking about applying not to Oxford like my dad wanted me to but to a conservatoire in Vienna. I even got invited to play for admission. He was nagging me however, relentlessly, and we got into quite a few fights about this and other things."

He had taken his eyes of her when he spoke about it, letting them wander apparently aimlessly around the room before he finally got into the chair his father had sat in, next to her. He cleared his throat unable to hide the intense emotion behind the report, however. 

"Sherlock had just about started school and I was begging my parents to take him back home as he was clearly not coping well. The teachers really did their best but Sherlock had a hard time sitting in a room all day and taking orders. He kept getting into fits of homesickness and tried to get sent home for getting into trouble. Mummey agreed to have him in a school here, but dad wouldn't hear of it. Family tradition and stuff." He had started to fiddle with a bronze miniature of a mounting horse that had been standing at the desk. "Dad was deeply disappointed that I wouldn't want to follow his career and we barely talked until I agreed to matriculate at his old college."

"So, if it hadn't been for him, you would have become a musician?" Mycroft smiled and slightly blushed as he pondered her question. He watched the flames in the fireplace flicker for a while.

His voice was silent and slightly sad when he answered, hardly moving his mouth upon speaking: "I guess so, yes. But it was for the best. I mean one needs a proper job that produces something of meaning and it's not like I'm not enjoying what I'm doing. I just wished sometimes it had been my own decision and not an act of obedience."

 

They had another day before their flights home and John was eager to put the time into good use. Sherlock's confession of denying himself any pleasure out of fear of the consequences troubled him deeply and he was determined to find something that man enjoyed. So he used the time Sherlock spend in the shower to browse web pages for things to do in Tokyo he might enjoy. When he came to a page about bungee jumping, he knew he found what he was looking for. He was so excited about the idea, he couldn't wait for Sherlock to finish his shower before telling him.

"Sherlock? Can I come in?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Hey Sherlock, I think I found something for us to do today, I mean until tonight." Sherlock's face was covered in shaving foam as he turned towards John. He looked like Father Christmas and John had to to giggle which annoyed Sherlock quite a bit.

"And what would that be then, love?"

"You are going bungee jumping." Sherlock had turned back to the mirror, the blade was running along his throat in one long smooth motion.

"So for the start of the new year you want to see me jump of a building without actually dying? Sounds slightly familiar to me, I think I've done that before."

John felt a stone drop in his guts when he realized what implications he had overlooked in the excitement. "Sorry, I didn't...I mean that was not...didn't mean to bring anything up with it. I just thought that would be the kind of thing you enjoy."

Sherlock gave him a curious look through the mirror before turning and facing him now looking more like the phantom of the opera with the soap missing on one half of his face.

"I know you didn't. But I won't do it unless you come with me."

"What? Uhm, I actually planned to wait and take photos of you as you...Me? Jump? I guess, okay."

Sherlock's face lit up and he pressed his lips together as he did when cases suddenly turned interesting. John watched it contently, padded his back and left him to his shaving.

 

There was quite some wind when they stood at the plattform, the rope already securely attached to their feet. John grasped Sherlock's hand looking down and then into the the cheerfulf face nex to him. 

"Tell me again, who had this stupid idea?"

"For once I can say it wasn't me. It was John Hamish Watson!" Sherlock laughed and kissed his cheek."

the instructor began to count backwards and Sherlock firmly placed his arms around John moving just that little bit closer to the edge that made all the difference between just standing there and getting ready to jump. John didn't actually feel the taking off itself, it had been the moment he dreaded the most. He only noticed the air going by his face and the way Sherlock held him close and he heard the enthusiastic laughter building in Sherlock's chest against which he was firmly pressed. It didn't stop even when they were pulled up again.

"Seems you enjoyed it then." John waited for his feet to be freed of the rope so he could get off the plattform.

"It was tolerable. John?"

John looked up at him instead of into the deep underneath him.

"John, I promise I will never jump off anything ever again unless you come with me. I just want you to know that so you don't worry as much any more as I know you do. I won't unless I can take you with me."

"That is indeed good news to me. Uh, the wind is heavy up here." He wiped the corner of his eyes with the tip of one of his sleeves.

"Let's hope it's not the east wind, coming for us already."

 

The door had been left open carelessly by one of the servants who had brought in addtional blankets, the old house turned more chilly by the hour. She saw Mycroft move with care around the room, he had only put on the one lamp on the desk so not to wake Sarah in her little bed. He leaned down slightly while fumbling with the buttons on his shirt and watched the little face move in its sleep. She couldn't make out what he told her, but the sound of his voice was softer than she had ever heard it from him. He tested her temperature by running a finger along the chubby cheek before he got distracted by two slender arms embracing him from behind, a blonde head coming to rest on his back. He lifted one arm and pulled her to his side, both their eyes now resting on the sleeping child.

Mary choked in her hiding place in the hall and quickly moved away, afraid Mycroft might notice her. She had thought it would give her some peace of mind to see how very well her daughter was cared for but this quiet scene of affection and peaceful domesticity made her crumble like a cookie in the rain. One of the maids rushing along the hallway giving last minute touches to the guest rooms, gave her a curious look and it wasn't until then she noticed that she was weeping. She took a deep breath and hurried towards the staircase, there was business to get on with.

 

The terrace could hardly hold the entire mass of guests that were gathering to watch the fireworks. Mycroft maneuvred through the crowd of politicians and family. He almost crashed into one of the servants who were busy handing out champagne flutes. He finally found her talking to one of his cousins.

"There you are. I've been looking for you."

"The rumour is spreading quickly that you ripped Ernest off his entire pocket money tonight." His cousin smiled at him over the rim of his glass.

"Ah, well I told him to stop several times, he wouldn't listen."

"I might be obliged to restate family honour and challenge you for another game tonight."

"You are welcome to do so."

People around them began counting as the last seconds of the year began to fade away. They watched the sky light up with crackers, the sound mingling with the chatter and cries from the terrace and music from the hall. So no one heard the bullett being shot from the roof behind them entering the head of the senior diplomat. He silently collapsed against his daughter standing in front of him, watching the sky. It was her cry that brought the murder to everybody's attention. Security immediatly began pulling people out of the crowd and into the house, some of them setting out to find the assassin.

"Mycroft, there!" Emily grabbed his arm and pointed to the roof. He saw a black figure quickly moving over the snowy roof. One of the security had followed her hand as well and fired towards the figure several times. 

"Don't shoot, for goodness sake!" He yelled at the man like she had never heard him before. It was too late, the black figure swayed and fell, leaving a red trace of blood behind as the body slithered half way down the roof and lay there not moving any more. He let go of her hand and spurted inside. She tried to follow him but quickly figured there was no point since she would be unable to climb up through the little window in a long dress. After ten more second of staring at the body on the roof in shock she grabbed her phone and called for an ambulance.

 

It was difficult to find grip as the snow had frozen over when the heat of the chimney had ceased some time during the evening. He removed his jacket to move his arms more freely and slowly made his way towards Mary step by step. when he was close enough to reach for her, he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her up until her head was resting next to his knees.

"Mary, do you hear me?" He felt around her chest, the black wool of her jumper was already soaked in blood that now covered his hand. He found the wound and pressed against it, knowing well it was too late.

"Will you keep her?" Her eyes tried to focus on his.

"I will make sure she will never lack anything as long as I live. I promise you that. Why did you do it?"

"You're playing for the wrong team Mycroft, those you believe are on your side are your worst enemies. He wasn't a good man." Her voice was already breaking. "There is a mole, he is coming for you and Sherlock and John. Take care of John."

"You worked for him. Why should I believe you now?"

"I got nothing to lose now."

"The ambulance will be here any minute." Her mouth moved into something like a tiny smile, both of them knowing it would be of no more use to her.

 


	42. Never Ordinary

Greg was carrying his younger daughter into her room, she had fallen asleep during their New Year's party. He cursed when he felt his mobile vibrating in his pocket. A call this late most of the time meant there was work waiting for him. His wife rolled her eyes. "Are they serious?"

He gave an apologetic look to her and their guests before retreating to the bedroom to take the call.

"DI Lestrade? I'm sorry to call you in. We have been asked to give assistance to the police in Cornwall. Apparently there has been an incident at the estate of the Holmes. I thought it would be best to send you as you are acquainted with the family."

"If it really is the Holmesian business, going there is in vain, we will be send off the premises within hours by the MI6. Waste of time."

"We can't not go, half of the upper class is there, one of them dead, so can I trust you to handle this?"

He sighed. "Yes, of course, I'm on my way." He finished the call and immediatly looked for the first number of the Holmes in his adress book. Emily answered almost immediatly.

"I have been called to come and look at your mess. What is going on? Can't you just have one family gathering without the drama?"

"Mary is dead. She shot him and one of the bodyguards got her."

"Christ! She shot whom?"

"Jeffrey Bean, a colleague of Mycroft. Greg, I would really appreciate it if you came here and handled the investigations. Your local colleague is not one of God's smartest creatures and by no means cooperative. And I don't think I need to tell you that everybody here is a little tense right now. "

"What do you mean not cooperative?"

"He has arrested Mycroft as a suspect because he was covered in blood when he met him. It was Mary's blood but that guy is eager to show off how well he can handle all this and has him sitting in his car handcuffed."

Greg massaged his temples as he forced himself to ask the question:"Why is Mycroft covered in Mary's blood?"

"He climbed onto the roof and tried to pull her down. As I said, the bodyguard shot her."

 

The scene remembered him of some action movie of the worst type when he drove through the gates of the estate in the early hours of the morning. People smartly dressed stood around the area in the light of police cars. A helicopter had landed on the patio and two medics were busy loading a corpse into their vehicle.

"Why is it always us, it must be some kind of curse the freak put on us." Donovan had been sulking the entire way, he had had to pick her up from what looked like a rather good party.

"Let's just get over and done with this, shall we?" He locked the car and began searching for someone in charge.

 

Emily had been right. The negotiations with his colleague certainly were tedious. He sensed his chance to advance his career by doing everything by the book in this. Having Emily yell at him and call him names in a way that would have made Sherlock blush with pride, certainly didn't help. Eventually he managed to get some time to speak to Mycroft in the back of the car where he was still sitting.

"Sorry, I couldn't convince him to let you go. Emily asked me to tell you she called your lawyer and that things are dealt with, whatever that means." 

Mycroft smirked. "Probably means she found my mobile and was wise enough to make some calls." Greg didn't try to press for any more details. He had learned to know better than that in recent years.

"You and John are kind of close, aren't you?" Greg nodded. "Would you call him and tell him about what happened? I don't think I'm capable of expressing the matter appropriately and I don't want to hurt him any more than neccessary."

"Of course. Can you tell me what actually happened?"

Mycroft took a moment, staring at his feet. Greg saw that the whole thing was touching him deeper than his professional attitude allowed to show. When the man finally began to speak his words were calm and well organized. "Mary shot Bean when we were on the patio to watch the firework. She had taken her position on the roof and probably planned to escape in the confusion following her shot. She entered the estate as a guest, my grandmother never took her of the guest list, she didn't know about the recent developments. She got changed in the attic, her gown still is up there. I assume she planned on leaving the same way she came. With regard to her motives, I still don't know what it was, though I strongly suspect it will be something that will be dealt with in my department, rather than yours."

"The local inspector believes it was revenge for her broken marriage and that she was aiming at you. That you knew about it beforehand and used the opportunity to get rid of her by having her shot and an unwanted rival at the office."

"Can we agree that there is more than one flaw in that theory?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows looking at him. Greg smiled. 

"Let's say I'm quite sure you will be back home for lunch." With that he got out of the car.

 

The sun was rising when things finally calmed down. Emily dreaded going to bed alone. she stared at the baby who had slept through it all, watched by one of the housemaids. She still couldn't believe that Mary was dead. The Mary she knew about from the files and recent events and the Mary she met were in too much contrast to each other to be the same person. Something was wrong here but she couldn't find the missing link that would connect the divergent information into one coherent story. She couldn't resist sleep for long, her body demanding some rest and so she curled up on the longchair next to Sarah's crip.

 

The night had been breezy and dark. Sitting on the deck of a boat he had watched John having dinner while he just pushed the pieces from one corner of the plate to the other. He had barely talked, content to listen to whatever story John's mind produced and told him. Whenever the man was in such a relaxed and talkative mood, Sherlock felt like he was sitting close to a fireplace, like the words warmed him as they entered his ears and finally his heart.

"Mrs Hudson will be more than happy to watch her for some hours if we really both have to go out." He was relieved that his mind reminded him this part of the conversation actually asked for an answer. The rest of John's talk had just passed that filter unprocessed for later for the benefit of studying his face and count the lines every movement of his mouth produced. His name meant about 124 different lines, most of them around the mouth, tiny ones at the upper lip.

John gave him an odd look, not annoyed yet but confused. "That is the answer to a question I asked about two minutes ago. What is going on?"

"Sorry I've just been...thinking I guess."

John sighed. "Even to me Sherlock, sometimes it is scary."

Silence fell between them as John watched the coast go by and listened to the murmur to of the waves against the ship.

"What were you thinking about then?" John looked down into the dark water."

"Mostly you."

"Should I be flattered then?" He gave him a cheeky smile which Sherlock returned. 

"Do you worry?" John looked up from his plate, reading Sherlock's face.

"About what exactly?"

"How things will work out with you going to work and me doing work and Sarah and everything."

John picked up his napkin and cleaned some stray sauce from the corner of his mouth. "I do, ya. But then I always worry and always will. And I also know that we have always made things work somehow."

Sherlock kept gazing over the water, he had hoped the answer would calm his uneasy feeling but it failed to do so to a degree. John leaned back in his chair, his skin shone in the light of the lanterns over his head. His face looked relaxed, something he seldom saw in him as he noticed now. The last time would probably have been the dancing John in Mycroft's guest room. His mobile buzzed in his pocket. John hadn't noticed, he was busy flirting with their waitress. He took it from his pocket and gave the display a quick glance. It showed Greg's name. He pressed the button and turned the phone off.

"Tell me something. It's odd that you are being so quiet."

"What should I tell you then?"

"Anything. About your work, the people at the next table. I don't care."

Sherlock smiled and nestled with his napkin. "Greg has asked me to give a lecture at some training course for forensic staff some time next month."

John's back straightened as he leaned forward and reached for Sherlock's hand.

"That's brilliant." When Sherlock's face didn't move, he pressed it gently.

"You will do fine. I mean you'll be talking about something you really know about. Not like at the wedding."

"Just never thought I would turn that ordinary one day. With proper work, a relationship, a family."

"We just attened a party with at least fifty criminals present and escaped because you placed a timed smoke bomb in the kitchen and to relax you made me jump off a building. Believe me, we are far from turning normal."

 

Emily woke to the sound of Sarah crying. She quickly stumbled to her feet and picked up the infant, taking her to the kitchen. The house lay silent but for some of the servants cleaning up the remains of the party. She was glad not to meet anyone, she was not in a mood to discuss the events of the night before. She took some milk powder from the package and began heating water. Sarah was eager and drank without pausing the entire bottle. The thought of Mary's dead body, of the blood running down Mycroft's hands and the screams from the crowd made her shiver with cold. If it had been indeed Mycroft she had aimed for, there would have been nothing she could have done. The helplessness made her blood boil. she knew she shouldn't have yelled at the inspector, but somehow it had been all she could do to defend him. Tell that man he was wrong and outright stupid. 

"Good morning." She turned and saw Greg enter the kitchen.

"Knowing this house explains so much about those two, don't you think?"

She gave a little nod and began looking for some coffee as he looked like he needed it.

"Emily, was it you who made sure I was given this case?"

"I'm sorry Greg, I just thought at least you are someone I know and who isn't brain damaged like this...never mind."

Greg walked over and picked Sarah up from her arms. 

"This is John's girl then. Blimey."

"Will you stay som time or do you have to go back straigth away?"

"Since my wife is furious anyway, there is no hurry."

"Again, I'm really sorry."

"Don't worry. Mycroft also should be on his way back by now. Who will take care of the funeral once the body is released, did you discuss that yet?"

"I think that is for John to decide. did you phone him?"

"How do you know I tried to phone him?"

"I know Mycroft would avoid being the bearr of the message, you just are the one closest to him."

They took their respective cups to the drawing room that still lay deserted as brunch was prepared in the dining room.

"Maybe it is best to try and get hold of one of them again now." Greg redialled John's number and waited for the line to connect.

 

He heard bullets hitting wood as he neared the barn at the end of the garden. He sighed as he recognized the sound to be his own gun being used with a muffler. So he knocked with full force before entering. 

"It's me. I'm back." She pointed the gun at some bottles that had been placed in a row on the board on the back of the hut. When she heard him, she turned to place a kiss on his cheek but he caught it with his mouth.

"What exactly are you trying to execute those bottles for, Emily Peerson? They look quite innocent to me and judging from the array of holes you produced around here you haven't hit a single one in at least the last half an hour." He spoke keeping his lips close to her face suddenly feeling very needy of her proximity.

"Just thought I give it a try. Never done this before."

"You know I can tell when you try to hide things from me and right now I can tell that this is about last night." He carefully took his gun from her hand without letting go of her.

"Well, last night just made the point clear that there might be moments where I will have to know how to shoot." she snapped at him and he sighed.

"You are serious about this, don't you?"

"Do I look like I'm joking? What if she had aimed at you? What if there will be someone breaking into the office again? You want me to stand by and watch?"

"I have managed to not get myself killed so far, there is no reason to be afraid for me. I'm not leaving."

"Mycroft, it's scary, the thought that you... that someone..." She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the bottles.

Silence spread between them as he studied her. 

"The way you shoot, you would probably get everybody around killed, including you and me." He pierced the top of his nose with two fingers.

"just for the protocoll, I'm very strongly opposed to this idea." He took hold of her arm and placed the gun back in her hand before aligning his face with hers. "Come on, I'll show you."

 

The sky had a dirty wash of grey and so did the streets as the snow had begun to melt and dirt and rain turned everything into mud. Quite a few people had turned up for the funeral, John had given notice to most of the peolpe Mary once had invited to their wedding. Upon their return about a week ago Mycroft had asked him into his office at the club and calmly taken him through the procedures.

"What would you like to be given as the cause of death?" He had swallowed hard, unable to answer for quite a while.

"Usually we just look into the medical report and pick something that seems probable based on the medical history. With your daughter in thought I would suggest going with something painless and unpreventable like a car accident.Of course, if you want to we can just put things down just the way they are." John had shaken his head fervently. 

"Her name and her life were an invention, seems fitting her death should be as well." Mycroft had nodded and unscrewed a fountain pen for him to sign the papers for the funeral.

"John, as you know I was there when she...went. There is something I think you would like to know." He had waited for John to finish his signatures before going on. "She made me promise to take care of Sarah and she explicitly asked me to take care of you. I hope you can find some comfort in knowing this, I don't think she was still holding any bad feelings towards you."

John had closed his eyes as they had been dangerously close to releasing tears. 

"Do you have any idea yet why..."

"Not yet, but rest assured as soon as I do I, you wil be among the first to know. Emily and I are actually working on it." His voice had reminded him of a father trying to soothe a crying child. Under any other circumstances he would have felt patronised, just then it had been a huge relief to know he could rely on him and Sherlock to take care of things.

The two Holmes kept their distance when he stepped to the grave with Sarah on his arms, chaperoned by Mrs Hudson and Emily. It felt slightly odd to cry and so he didn't but buried his face in the black chiffon of his daughter's dress.

The following days he spent in a strange haze. He functioned and reacted when Sherlock put food or tea in front of him but otherwise he mostly sat in his armchair staring into the off. Sherlock kept him comfortable and moved boxes around the flat, changed diapers and kept Sarah entertained. John felt awful to leave it all to him and was after all surprised that he managed it all so seemingly effortlessly.

"Sherlock, thank you." He took hold of the arm that was carrying another box of toys past his armchair towards the bedroom. The face underneath the curls slightly blushed. His answer was muttered but not inaudible. "I love you, John."

 


	43. Either Way, It Will Be Fine

John slowly got used to finding Mycroft in his living room when returning from a late shift. Most of the time the brothers sat together, leaning over some papers,having a conversation of half sentences. Sometimes Emily or Jonah would join them. He never dared to ask about Mary trusting them both to let him know if there was anything he would be interested in. Sherlock hadn't taken any cases from clients for weeks, Greg keeping him busy most of the time. At night he seemed to work on his paper. John sometimes rubbed his eyes wondering when his life had become so peaceful and content.

Tonight the brothers were staring at each other, a conversation even more silent than usual. Sherlock's eyes produced an intense stare that seemed fixed at Mycroft's throat who in turn studied Sherlock's forehead with full concentration.

"Uhm, just so you know, I'm back." He stood and watched the peculiar scene. He was ignored.

"Anybody dinner?" He tried once more to catch their attention in vain. He sighed and turned towards the kitchen as he seemed the only one in need of calories. He grabbed some leftovers and retreated to the couch, opening the papers.

"You're right, he might know that better than us. After all the parametres resemble."

"hmm."

"John?" He looked up from the article, surprised to be adressed.

"So you noticed my existence. Thank god, I thought I had turned invisible."

Sherlock turned his head, keeping his fingers stapled together. Mycroft kept staring ahead.

"Imagine you had broken contact with your father years ago because he treated your mother badly and wasn't exactly what you would call a responsible parent."

"No imagining neccessary so far." John chewed on another fork of fried rice. Sherlock gave his brother a very quick and meaningful look.

"Now imagine you were about to get married, would you like him to turn up?"

John scraped the remains of his meal from the plate before answering.

"Mycroft, why don't you just ask her. This could get really messy." Eventually Mycroft turned towards him, now aiming his stare at him. He knew it was severe insecurity hidden under a thick layer of superiority and arrogance put on display out of habit.

"I'm afraid that is not possible. If I ask her, she would know that I know where he is. She wouldn't buy into me just asking for no reason. I know I will have to tell her eventually, I'm just trying to reduce the risk and damage."

"And why did you have him found if she doesn't want to have contact with him?"

"Well, there you are mistaken. This time finding him was more of an awkward coincidence. One of my agents came across him when we were looking for people performing some minor crimes for some monetary advantages."

"Oh. Right. I see. And he, ahm, offered to do that?" Mycroft gave an almost invisible nod.

"Do you have to work tomorrow?" Sherlock gave him a look that was usually reserved for moments he asked for favours that fell way into the illegal category and John felt his guts turn with anticipation.

"Let me just call the clinic."

"And I will call Jonah, it's only fair he should know about this as well."

  


They watchted the man come and unlockhis shop that was well known to handle stolen goods. He had Jonah's way of holding himself and is mouth and eyes resembled those of Emily. There was no doubt, the man that called himself Mickey was indeed Michael Peerson. Sherlock watched him without any visible emotions. John couldn't forget what the mentioning of the name had done to Jonah. 

"Mycroft, you have no idea. If you tell her about it, I will never talk to you again. It took her years to get over his disappearance. And I will not tolerate him in the same room with me! You make your choice."

"Jonah, he seems to be in quite a bit of trouble. I think he deserves a chance to set things right. It's been years..."

"There is no right, where he is concerned. He doesn't care about others, there is only him. I will tell you what is going to happen. He will be all concerned and anxious and mindful, he will make promises to her and she will be utterly disappointed when he doesn't turn up. I've seen it more than once. Birthdays, graduations, Christmases. He promises her to be there, she waits, he forgets, she gets hurt badly." The young man had been shaking with rage, walking in endless circles around the living room, Mycroft calmly watching him.

"I can't not tell her. It wouldn't be right. Maybe you and I could convince her not to put her hopes too high and then maybe he will surprise you in a positive way." John had watched as the words sank in with the young man. He often wondered about the nature of the relationship between Jonah and Mycroft. Though he believed them to be of similar intelligence, Jonah always seemed to accept Mycroft's opinion while disregarding advice from anyone else.

"She always promised me not to hope that he will come but she always does. There is nothing she wants more than to fix this family. She would bent over backwards for him, to keep him in our life. Not that he was ever in it, really. He kept turning up and leaving for as long as I can remember. When my parents fought, she would always be the one talking them both back round, being the eternal mediator between him and mum and me. Keeping family together and everybody happy is what drives my sister. There is nothing she wants more than a functioning, happy family and she will fight for it with all her might and main. You know oh too well what she gets up to when she believes you or me to be in trouble." He had never heard Jonah sound so grown up and it had given John goose bumps seeing the looks passing between him and Mycroft as the older man had pressed his thin lips together and John believed he had seen his eyes becoming more moist than usual.

"Then you and I will have to be there and watch out for her. I think we agree there is no point in lying to her?" Jonah had ruffled his hair and bit his lip before nodding in agreement.

  


"Do you know what you want to tell him yet?" Sherlock buried his hands in the pockets of his coat, not looking at his brother. Mycroft extinguished his cigarette and straightened his back.

"I do. I would appreciate back up from one of you, though."

"I'm not going, I can trust myself to break his nose." Jonah retreated further into the house entrance they all had been hiding.

"Let's go then. Sherlock can watch our back." John straightened up as well and brushed some stray snowflakes from his jacket, smiling at Sherlock.

  


The little shop was stuffed with electric devices to the roof. The single lamp on the ceiling only managed to set the room into a strange twilight. Chimes announced their arrival when Mycroft pushed the door open determinedly. They heard someone move in the backroom and eventually Mickey's face appeared in the door behind the counter.

"How can I help you gentlemen?" There was something slightly mocking about the adress.

"Mr Peerson I assume?" The expression on his face instantly turned a little hostile.

"Who wants to know?"

Mycroft removed the glove of his right hand and held it out to him over the counter. "I'm Mycroft Holmes. We haven't met." Mickey didn't take the hand.

"Na, didn't think so. What do you want?"

"I'm acquainted with your children, Jonah and Emily."

"If you were, Mr Holmes, you'd know we aren't really on speaking terms, them and me."

"So I was told. I just thought you would be interested to know Emily and I are getting married." Mycroft reached for his pocket and produced an invitation. When Mickey wouldn't take it, he simply placed it on the counter.The man glanced at it suspiciously before eventually opening it.

"So the girl has gone up in the world. Doesn't look like a party I would be welcome at."

"I think it would mean quite a lot to your daughter if you could find time to come."

"So how is she?"

"Well, she is well. She and Jonah and I , we...work together."

Mickey nodded, still looking at the invitation. "Jonah is in Zurich, I thought. I, uhm, look him up sometimes. Always knew he is a clever boy. Had no idea how clever, back then. Don't think they are keen to meet me. Would be quite an embarrassment to them and you.

"Think about it. I would be very happy to see you there. And so would she." Mycroft put his glove back on and turned towards the door, nodding at John. 

  


It had become too late to go home. They had spent the entire night collecting and reorganizing information to find any evidence for what Mary had said in her last moments. So far it didn't add up. No evidence for a conspiracy or a mole. Part of her hoped the would find anything to prove she hadn't lied, she desperatly wanted to exculpate her, prove that she hadn't tricked them all along. Emily found it hard to concentrate since Mycroft and Jonah had come up to her after dinner and looked so very serious.

"What is going on?" She could smell the trouble and the uneasy look between them just elivered the evidence she had needed.

"Listen..." Mycroft had wrung his hands and avoided her eyes.

"Dad turned up. Mycroft invited him to your wedding. He said he's going to think about it."

Mycroft had given im a furious look before burying his face in his hands.

The screen began to blur in front of her eyes. She rubbed her eyes and found them sore and swolen.

"Go, lie down. I'm just going to finish this page." He gently rubbed her back with the knuckles of his fingers. It was only then that she noticed how tense she was.

She didn't bother to turn on the lights or take off her clothes before she dropped on the tiny bed in the backroom. It would only be a couple of hours before the noise of the others coming back in for work would wake them up again. 

"At least try to sleep. You look like you could use it." His arm curled up under her so her head rested on his shoulder. She slid further down so she could hear his heartbeat.

"Did he look okay?"

"Yes, he looked alright. Emily, either he will turn up or he won't. Either way it will be fine." She leaned into the fingers that ruffled her hair.


	44. Quite A Pair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to mphelmsman for the idea with the tailor. I had been looking for a good place to set this chapter and this just fitted so nicely.

It didn't take him long to find Mycroft Holmes on the internet. When he typed in the name, pictures of the man at conferences and even one at Buckingham palace had popped up. Sometimes his daughter was in them as well. He recognized her serious face which she had always worn. The latest reports were about that New Year's party where one of the guest had been shot. There was a picture of the house with police in front and the reporter was asking why Sherlock Holmes hadn't yet been asked to invesitgate. 

That night he couldn't find sleep and even the beer wouldn't help with that. His daughter and he had parted without a word. At some point they had just drifted apart and this time she had not tried to reconcile. He had felt like it had been a decision on her part he ought to respect. That man surely meant good by coming and finding him but he wasn't sure Emily felt the need to see him, now that she found herself other people to be around. The situation was much more clearcut with his son. Jonah had told him to go an drop dead in some corner when he had got drunk at the party after his son's first lecture. He hadn't intended to embarrass him but somehow he had felt horribly out of place and had thought a bit of alcohol would steady his nerves. Their mother had simply disappeared after fifteen minutes without saying goodbye or even being noticed, a strategy he should have applied as well. And now his daughter's wedding was even a topic for the rainbow press. A friend had handed him the paper when he had mentioned the strange guest at the pub that night. There she had been, walking in some park with him next to her. Her eyes had said everything he needed to know as for once she wasn't wearing that usual gravity about herself. "I wouldn't miss out on that, ya never know when such relation comes in handy." He had given his friend a forced smile and left early.

 

Both men wear glued to the screens of their laptops furiously typing away when John came in to feed his daughter.

"Have you been up all night?"

"I need to finish this before I forget what I wanted to write." Jonah didn't look up from the keyboard while Sherlock once more ignored him completely, staring into his computer.

"Sherlock, did you have breakfast, or anything since lunch?" The curled head didn't turn but pointed to a mug which John picked up.

"Tea isn't a meal dear, I thought we established that." He handed Sarah to Sherlock who pressed the child to his chest finally aknowledging the world outside his compuer screen. The child gooed with delight as he began babbling to her and seesawing her on his knees.

"Jonah, you staying for lunch as well?" He had begun toasting bread for three while waiting for his daughter's breakfast to heat.

"I'm afraid not. Emily has asked me to accompany her to some place where she will get her dress made. Tedious stuff but Myc wouldn't go. I'm bored out of my mind already, just thinking about it." Sherlock gave him a sympathetic look.

"I wished she would just go back to having the odd mindless girlfriend around for these kind of jobs but she seems to have dropped that habit." He stretched on the couch when John placed the plate of toast on the table.

"What happened to her old ones then?" Sherlock didn't look up from Sarah who was eagerly drinking from her bottle.

"They always just disappear at some point. I think Emily is no good at keeping up conversations with people. Unless you want to talk to her about her work or books, which most people just don't want to do all day."

John contemplated what had been said while munching on his first piece of toast. Indeed he had never seen her indulge in conversation outside their group. Even at that fateful dinner party last summer, she had stood by and listened but hardly ever expressed any kind of opinion to anyone but Mycroft, Jonah and Sherlock. He couldn't help but remember Mary at the thought and how happily she had chatted her way through the night.

"The school had her go to some course when she refused to go on school trips. I think she usually panics so badly at some point, she passes out."

"They're quite a pair, those two, aren't they?" Jonah shrugged at him before adding:" I think that's why they get along so well, both of them are just completely screwed up when it comes to dealing with people outside work. That's what they say at the office anyway."

"And you consider yourself a social light?" Sherlock smirked as Jonah pondered about the question.

"No, but other than her I don't care about it. And that's why I don't see how I should be of any help to her today. John, would you mind going for me? You're just better at these...things."

 

John couldn't drop the habit of scanning his surroundings casually for anything suspicious. It was a habit from his army times that had been enhanced by living with Sherlock. It took him only seconds to notice the man lingering on the pavement opposite the tailor's shop. And he recognized him instantly. Mickey stood at the street corner, obviously looking for the shop. When he found it, he slowly strolled towards it. He stopped at a distance that allowed him to watch what was going on inside through the big shop's window but made it hard for anyone inside to notice him watching. Emily stood on a pedestal with her back to the window getting her measurements done. John's eyes met that of Mickey and he gave the man a meaningful look.

"I'm right back, just saw someone I haven't talked to in a while." Emily turned her head towards him, clearly uneasy about being left alone.

John had to jog to catch up with Mickey as he had begun walking away as soon as he had become aware of John having noticed his watching. 

"Wait!" The man stopped unwillingly. "Don't you want to at least say hello to her?"

"Na, she's busy." The man's face was bloated and his voice hoarse. "Just been passing by accident anyway. In a hurry."

"I think you can spare five minutes before getting to your shop on the other side of town." Mickey weighed his head uneasily.

 

He watched them from inside the shop as Emily shook her father's hand on the stairs in front of the entrance for the first time in years. She seemed dizzy with excitement to see him, though she hid it well by pocketing her hands and avoiding his eyes. He couldn't hear what they talked about but by the time they parted, Emily eyes were beaming with delight. The whole encounter had only lasted for some minutes but had completely changed her. As she stepped back on the pedestal, John reached for his phone.

 

He turned up and they talked for a minute or so. JW

 

How is she coping? MH

 

Falling over with joy. Boy, if he disappears again or doesn't turn up, you are in big trouble. JW

 

Shit. MH

 

John gasped with surprise at that last message.

 

Never knew you know such words! JW

 

Seemed appropriate. MH

 

Indeed. JW


	45. Sherlock Is Jealous and Mycroft Is Hit

"Mycroft? Mycroft, wake up!" He felt her elbow painfully connecting with his ribcage. There were voices in the hallway before the office. She had already tiptoed towards the door and rested her head on it. 

"These are the plans for the infiltration. They plan to begin the operation some time next week. Mr Holmes is supervising."

"Have they decided who is to go yet?"

"No, but a list of possible candidates is in the folder."

"Any idea who is feeding them the information on us?"

"That was Bean's job, I haven't got hold of a key for his office yet."

"Well, you better hurry with that, he is getting nervous."

Emily had opened the door only slightly and was peering at the two men. When he got to the door she moved so he could have a look as well. One of them was now thumbing through a stack of papers before depositing it in his bag. Mycroft quickly leaned back against the wall when they moved and passed their door.

"Did you recognize them?"

Mycroft nodded. "One at least. We better act quick. If we catch him tonight, we might get the name of the other one before he is able to disappear. Our plan just turned oblivious, however. He turned on the lights and hurried for the phone, pressing the key for his supervisor's private number. Without introduction he explained the situation while Emily collected her coat from her chair.

 

"Right, I will be out with some people to his house, if you take care of the streets and airports." He got dressed and picked up his gun from a drawer in his desk, carefully placing it inside his jacket.

"I'd prefer if you stayed here."

"What?" Are you kidding me?"

"This is going to be dangerous and I can't look out for you on top of it. He pressed another key on the phone to call for a car.

"Are you serious? What makes you think I can't take care of myself? And who are you to tell me where to go?"

"Technically I'm your boss and responsible for you and I'm telling you now you are going home." He was out of the door before she could even begin to form an answer.

 

"Ouh, someone is angry." Sherlock raised from the couch in one swift movement when he heard the doorbell. John parted the curtains and looked down. 

"It's Emily."

"What did he do now?" Sherlock frowned and made his way to the door almost forgetting to close his dressing gown over his naked chest. 

It didn't take Sherlock's deduction skills to verify that she was angry as she stomped up the stairs to their living room and fired her coat into the next corner.

"He told me to go home! He has the nerves to send me home, like a child! After all it was me who overheard them, he would have slept right through it if it hadn't been for me!" She stormed into the kitchen slamming the cupboard doors. The talking went on, it didn't seem to be aimed at anyone in particular.

"Have you gathered what this is about?" Sherlock leaned against the wall.

"Nope, you're the detective, thought you would be able to fill me in." They waited for Emily to return to the living room as neither dared to follow her into the kitchen.

"Your brother is an idiot!" She sipped on a fresh cup of tea a little calmer than just seconds ago.

"So I keep telling the world but so far nobody would listen to me. Would you care to elaborate how he managed to prove the point this time?"

 

They had settled in front of the TV, Emily in their middle, arms still crossed in front of her chest but dozed of. Sherlock felt a pang of a very familiar feeling when John rearranged the blanket around her and pushed a pillow under her head as it fell towards his shoulder. He felt the urge to wake her, so he began kicking her feet with his.

"What do you think you are doing?" John spoke calmly but didn't look at him.

"Nothing." He turned beetroot red in the face.

"You are kicking her feet to wake her up. Why?"

"Just testing how deep she is sleeping. Did you know there are different phases of sleep that..."

"Stop it Sherlock, I can tell when you are lying." His voice was so soft, he wanted to curl up and get in his lap. John got up and slowly rested Emily's head on the armrest of the sofa before taking hold of Sherlock's hand and pulling him up. He pressed him into his armchair and got into his lap.

"You're jealous."

Sherlock huffed "No."

John pretended to get up but was held back by Sherlock's long arm grabbing his jumper. "Don't you dare." He pulled John's face towards him for a long kiss which he only broke when Emily's phone went off.

"Ha, you're dreaming!" Her body was half bent over the armrest as she looked at the display of her phone and found it showing Mycroft's name. John flinched when it hit the opposite wall. 

 

Sherlock looked at his watch and smiled at himself. It had taken his brother exactly half an hour since the fatal accident of the phone to turn up at their door. He calculated that he had been sulking for at least fifteen of them, the traffic at one in the mornign could hardly justify the time span.

"I can't remember having given you a key." 

"You should get a better lock, especially with a child in the house." Mycroft took off his gloves, he looked pale.

"Keep the shouting down, Sarah and Mrs Hudson are sleeping. She is in the study. John and I are going for a walk."

"Ah, are we?" John put down his paper and reached for the baby monitor.

"You've got half an hour." Sherlock's coat swirled theatrically when he put it on.

 

They walked in silence for a while. John was gazing at the few stars visible despite the lights of the town. 

"You know I kind of liked that you got jealous." John grinned at the sky and Sherlock couldn't help but laugh with him.

"Do you remember that ginger nurse you went out with about a year before I left?"

"Oh, ya Jannette. I remember. She got mad at me when she found a stray ear in her dinner."

"I know. I put it there. Couldn't help it, I guess I was kind of jealous."

John looked at him for some seconds before bursting into laughter again. "You later defended yourself pointing out she had a horrible voice."

"I hated hearing her... with you I mean." It was Sherlock now who turned his face towards the sky, avoiding John's eyes.

"I don't know what to say, I had no idea."

"Don't worry, it's all sorted now." Sherlock pressed the shorter man against his body and nuzzled his nose in his hair. John couldn't shake off the thought though. He kept wondering how many times he must have hurt Sherlock by bringing women back to the flat. It hurt him to think how he must have felt. His own feelings when he had seen him around Jonah still painfully present on his mind.

 

If looks could kill, he would have gotten close to dying a second time this night. She stood at the other end of the room, looking like a cat ready to jump into his face.

"I shouldn't have said that. Not like that anyway."

"No, you shouldn't have said it at all. But most of all you should have told me earlier that I'm in your way while working. I can't believe you dragged me along though I only meant an additional burden." Her teeth were firmly pressed together and her skin blushed with the adrenaline rushing through her veins.

"Oh, come on, you're fishing for compliments now. You know you're not a burden."

"Then explain to me what made you say that!"

He was exhausted and the pain from his left arm tore at his nerves.

"I knew it would get dangerous and I know how irresponsibly protective you can get when you believe me to be in danger. I won't let you get hurt because of your irrational level of affection for me."

"So, I'm not allowed to protect you, but if you storm off to protect me, that's fine. Am I the only one who senses how illogical that is?"

He didn't answer but felt around his arm.

"I really feel like hitting you." 

"I'm afraid someone else preempted you on that." He carefully shrugged off his coat so the makeshift bandage became visible over the torn and bloody shirt. She didn't answer but hurried for John's first aid kit.

"I hope you don't find yourself under the impression that this conversation is finished." The sound of his shirt being torn apart made him flinch. A flesh wound of about two centimetres was gaping on his arm just below his shoulder.

"John will have to stitch that." She carefully examined the wound turning away every time he tried to catch her eyes. The kitchen light flickered and gave her skin a strangely pale colour. He felt completely dumbfounded when it came to explaining to her why the thought of her getting in danger or even being killed drove him up the wall. 

"It's because I couldn't live without you. And this is not some cheesy excuse, I really couldn't." It was the best he could do, a feeble attempt of explanation. She kept patting the area around the wound with a disinfectant.

"I understand that well because I feel the same way about you. And getting yourself shot doesn't really help that." Her voice still shook with emotion.

"So what now?" The alcohol began to hurt and his breath caught.

"We just both live with it, I guess."

He rested his head against her. "I'll try not to tell you what to do any more. I'm sorry."

"You're a complete idiot, dangerous lunatic."

"So are you."

"I know."


	46. A Matter of Good Old Extortion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my train running really late today, this chapter turned out rather long. The circumstances of its composition account for some of the trials Mycroft is going through, I hope you enjoy it anyhow:)

"Seems she was telling the truth after all." John didn't answer but shifted the lamp closer to take a better look at the wound. The bullet had only touched but it was enough to produce a gap of two centimetres width.

"Tell me if you need more painkiller. And if you develop a fever you will have to see someone." He took a sterilised needle and thread from its packaging. Mycroft watched his face, unsure if he should continue to tell John about Mary's motives.

"I know you are trying to tell me she acted to keep me and you save, I'm just not sure how I'm supposed to feel about that." John spoke eventually, much calmer than Mycroft had expected.

"Did you manage to sort that out? Because she sure was angry. She threw her phone against the wall." John collected the bloodstained bandage and other equipment from the kitchen table.

"Think so. Though I'm sure she will give me a hard time about this." He gave the newly dressed wound a weary look.

"I'm glad she came here. It's good to know she has somewhere she will turn if..." He swallowed the rest of the sentence when Sherlock and Emily entered the kitchen but he knew John had understood. The wool of John's jumper itched when Sherlock pulled it over his head. It was unfamiliar to have Sherlock fuzz over him and he watched in awe when his brother manoevered his hurt arm into the sleeve.

 

"You're sure you wouldn't like to come along?" She was hopping through the living room, putting on her shoes. 

"Not unless you want me to." She grabbed her coat from the couch and turned looking for her purse which he held out to her.

"Do you want me to come along?" She gave his arm in the sling a weary look.

"I'll be fine I guess."

"Got your phone, just in case?" She padded the pockets of her black coat that fell so beautifully over her skirt locating the new phone. He had never seen her wear a skirt voluntarily before.

"Keys?" She nodded.

"I'll meet Jonah down at the office, so I better hurry." Despite the declaration she didn't move.

"Say hello to him from me, will you?" She nodded again and kissed his mouth before finally turning to leave. He followed and watched her walk down the street until her head disappeared around the corner. The air was mild and promising the arrival of spring. Mrs Potter appeared behind him, curious what he was standing in the open door for. 

"Is it just you for supper then?" 

"Yes, she's out to meet her father for supper in town."

"I better prepare two portions then, in case she returns...hungry."

"Let's hope the best." he muttered, closing the door on the fading day.

 

They had chosen the place of meeting with care. It was a decent restaurant populated with families and crowds of friends. Jonah had reserved a table and double checked the booking. Emily had arranged with the waiter that he would only present the bill to her, she wouldn't want to risk him feeling obliged to pay. Conversation began to slow down ndeventually ebb between them as they watched the candle slowly diminishing. After fifteen minutes they had ordered their drinks, after half an hour Jonah and she had emptied the bread basket. The waiter began growing impatient to take their orders. Other people who had arrived before them were finishing their meals and moved to desserts and the two of them watched them in silence like a theatre audience watching a play that was slowly turning into a tragedy. Jonah took his pocket watch from its pocket and gave it another look, brows thoroughly furrowed. It had been a present for his birthday from Mycroft, one he wouldn't use any more. He had offered to get him a new one, but Jonah had insisted on this one, and she had a notion of why. Whenever he took it into his hands, his fingers would run over the aeruginous Latin inscription and the family signet on the back, promises of stability and reliability, heritage and solidarity.

When the waiter turned up another time asking if they still would be needing the third chair at their table, Emily shook her head and forced a smile before finishing her drink with one enormous gulp. They both ordered a dish of pasta they both would barely touch. 

The streets were about to wake up for the night when they stepped out of the restaurant again. Both stared at the noisy, happy crowd passing them by, unable to articulate anything to express the feeling of failure and desertion.

"Want to come back to our place?" She closed the coat, suddenly feeling selfconscious in her new skirt and heels. Jonah kept staring ahead before finally shaking his head.

"I think I will check in on Sherlock, maybe I can still get some work done." He drew her close for an embrace that lasted slightly longer than usual. He hailed a cab and gave her another, reassuring look getting into the backseat. She smiled, hoping to convince him not to worry about her. As he drove off, she thought about what to do next. She didn't feel like going home but she had no idea where else she could go. So she decided to postpone the arrival and started to walk.

 

Jonah is here, not talking much. SH

 

He didn't turn up? MH

 

No. Didn't she tell you? SH

 

Not back yet. MH

 

Worried? SH

 

Slightly. MH

 

With a sigh he abandoned the phone on top of the piano before turning towards the tall windows overlooking their garden. Emily had begun repainting the bench under his apple tree this afternoon. Its fresh varnish of white paint glowed brightly in the light filtering from the windows. If she would have wanted to to talk, she would have called him. So there was nothing but to wait for her. He watched one of the neighbours' cats balancing over the fence in pursuit of a bird, then turned back to his papers on the couch, seeing the letters but unable to produce meaning out of them.

 

She had been wandering around for some two hours when she finally got into a cab. Her feet hurt from the new and unfamiliar shoes, blood already staining her tights over the rim of them.

"Where about then, Miss?" The driver waited patiently for her to come up with the adress. She bit the inside of her cheek as the car glided through the street. She watched couples kissing on the pavement, a mother holding her sleeping child over her shoulder at the bus stop, friends laughing and embracing in front of a movie theatre. She felt left out. The world kept turning without her, an outcast from their gaiety. The lights of the windows suddenly seemed to her like the eyes of evil creatures glaring at her, watching her and waiting for their chance to attack her. Just as she began scolding herself for so much selfpity, her pone vibrated in her purse. She swallowed hard when she saw his name on the screen but took the call. She listened to the tale of urgent business, belated subways and the promise of a new appointment. His tongue was already lazy with alcohol. She suddenly believed she could smell the beer in his breath for a moment there.

"Yes dad, I'm sure we will find a new date. Of course, just call as soon as you know. No, no trouble at all, we had a lovely evening. Yes, I'll give him your love." When the call ended, the silence felt opressing and the buildings outside were laughing with devilish grins.

 

He sat on the stairs when she opened the door. She didn't say anything but carefully took off the offending shoes, the cold tiles producing a pleasant feeling on her swollen soles.

"I'm sorry." He took them from her hands, carefully storing them away in the cupboards underneath the stairs. She was sure he had noticed the bloodstains but loved him even more for not commenting on them.

"Not your fault. I knew there was a good chance he wouldn't turn up, so I only got myself to blame for caring." She carefully folded the coat over the banister rail.

"You got him to blame. If he doesn't want to spend time with you, he is a fool."

"It's not that he doesn't want to, he just somehow doesn't...manage." She curled up against his chest, more to comfort him than herself. She knew he worried and was anxious to be of help.

 

Sarah was giggling wildly every time Jonah lifted her over his head. He lay on his back in front of the fireplace in Baker Street happy to amuse the child while John went over the files of a complicated patient. Sherlock and he were involved in one of those conversations that made John both question their and his own sanity but also amused him greatly most of the times. To both of them human behaviour seemed to be one of the last great mysteries of the universe.

"It just doesn't make sense to agree on an appointment and then not show up, unless you consider the appointment or the people involved as dull or unimportant. Do you think your father thinks of you as dull?"

The young man lifted Sarah twice more and smiled at her excitement before answering. "He keeps reassuring us that he does not. However, I do agree that there is some discrepancy between his utterances and action. For where it is rooted I have not the slightest of ideas. The real question to me is, how is one to react to such break of social conduct."

"I once came across a case of a Sicilian family feud. They were in the habit of informing their antagonists about their feelings by hiding a horse's head in the bed of the misbehaving family member."

"I'm not sure my father would gather the message behind a horse head in his bed. And how does one come by such an item? I don't feel like going out to behead a horse for my father's sake."

"I'm sure Angelo could provide me with some useful contacts on the matter. He also introduced me to the guy I usually acquire those human remains from Molly is unwilling or unable to provide."

"Sherlock, let me be clear on this. Neither of you will put a horse head in Mickey's bed. Do you understand?"

The two men looked at each other with something like puzzlement and regret not unlike two schoolboys being caught in preparing a prank.

"So what is your suggestion then, Dr Watson?" Sherlock crossed his arms before his chest as he delivered the challenge.

"How about you try and talk to him open and frankly, ever tried that Jonah?"

"My father is a bad excuse for a criminal drunk with very limited mental capacity. My last attempts of having a conversation with him ended in him scolding my mother and Emily for sending me to grammar school claiming that was the reason I talked like a twat." John could see the rage that had burst from him when Mycroft had broken the news of the appearance of their father on the scene build up once more. Jonah was by no means as uninvolved emotionally as he tried to make everybody believe.

"I don't understand my sister's fixation with him, nobody would blame her for giving up on him. She has more than fulfilled her moral obligation towards that...selfcentered brute."

John was surprised when he caught Sherlock's worried look.

"I think she wants his acceptance, some psychological mechanism or weakness she shares with Myc."

John instantly recognized he had just been granted a very rare look into Sherlock's relationship towards his brother, an area of the man's heart he usually was firmly excluded from.

"Well, maybe we should leave the negotiations to Mycroft then, after all he is the one with diplomatic training in here." Jonah got up and reached for his laptop, making clear that he was no longer interested in being invovled in any kind of conversation. He would brood behind the screen late into the night before dozing off on their couch. John didn't mind the arrangement that had become common habit in the past few weeks. The spare duvet had been taken out of its storage weeks ago and had never put back but waited for him at the one end of the couch.

 

In his long acquaintance with Sherlock John had learned that there were few precious moments in which the man was willing to talk about what was going on in his mind and more importantly his heart. He had come to think of Sherlock's emotional life as a well guarded room in his mind palace who Sherlock was hesitant to enter when outside the safety of his bedroom or what was now his study. He knew it costed him actual physical effort to enter the "room" and so he had ceased to press him to do so, which had resulted in Sherlock trusting him with such kind of information more often by now.

"Don't feel like sleeping?" He let his eyes wander over Sherlock's naked body sprawled out over their bed. The heap of curls shook without that the eyes would have left their point of fixation somewhere on his pillow.

"Did you and your father get along well?" 

John turned on his back mustering the ceilling before he came up with an answer.

"It was alright. As long as you didn't expect any deep conversations or understanding of your life from him, he was alright. Mind you, that was before he took up the booze and I guess that wouldn't hold true for Harry. What about your father? He seems alright."

"I guess he is, compared to what else seems to be on the market. I think I hardly know him, he was away a lot. It was mummey and Myc and me most of the time. I liked granddad a lot. I think we had a lot in common and he would just let me be." Silence fell between them and John assumed that Sherlock had gone into his mind, probably somewhere his granddad was waiting for him. So he was surprised when Sherlock took up the conversation again out of the blue on a completely different topic.

"Now that the plan has failed, we will just have to wait for him to come for us and catch him as he does so."

"Scared?"

"Yes."

 

It was another Wednesday which meant another lunch at the office with his colleagues. The prospect of another conversation with Steve made his muscles itch with something similar to aggression. Sometimes he felt like a box champion just about to enter the ring for another round of fighting and he was slowly but inevitably growing tired of it. It wasn't until they had finished their soup that Steve let the cat out of the bag with a vicious smile.

"I almost forgot to tell you, I ran into that DI you keep as a friend for your brother this morning. He was looking for you but you were in a phone conference. I promised to tell you that your future father in law has been arrested for starting a fight in a pub. Must have been very drunk but that, I guess, is not uncommon with him. At least that's what I heard."

"And where exactly did you hear that?"

"Ah, you know, people talking. Some say you're letting your family down with your choice of...partner. But then all old families decay at some point as sad as it might be. Six hundred years of service to the crown and country and then Mycroft Holmes decides to marry the daughter of a confirmed drunkard. And I thought your brother would turn out the black sheep in the family tree." It was pure hate and spite that glowed in his eyes. The room had grown very silent, the two men stalking each other like wild animals about to start a fight of life and death.

"May I remind you that you are talking about my fiancée here? If you mess with her, you're ultimately messing with me, Steve. So if you don't want me to take you apart piece by piece and to drag every single one of your dirty little secrets before the public eye, I strongly advise you to keep away from her and me and most of all never to speak about my family in such a manner again. I have crushed men of much higher power than you before and I will not hesitate to see you squirm under my thumb like a vermin, because that's what you are to me, a dirty little cockroach. The distance between them had shrunk considerably as he spoke, he had leaned over the table towards him, their glaring eyes now close enough to each other that he could make out individual eyelashes and freckles on his heated face. Everybody in the room had stopped to breathe, waiting for something like a high noon to take place. When Mycroft noticed Steve was not about to produce an answer, he slowly got out of his chair, not breaking the gaze between them.

"Would you excuse me, some of us have actual work to get on with." He folded his napkin and carefully placed it next to his plate before turning to leave.

 

"Thanks for informing me. I really appreciate it." Greg nodded at him and silently pointed to the places where he had to sign before he remembered that Mycroft probably knew the drill all too well from getting Sherlock out of custody several times.

"Will he need a lawyer?" The man was all business about it, not a hint of involvement showing in his features.

"No, there is a fine to be paid and he is free to leave." Mycroft thumbed through the forms and when he found the figure, took out his wallet, carefully counting out the sum onto Greg's desk.

 

"Oi, Mr Holmes, didn't know Sherlock is back with us." The guard laughed surprised seeing him coming down the stairs behind Greg.

"He isn't Larry, we're here for Mr Peerson." Greg pushed a form through the metal-grilled window. Larry looked at it and pressed the buzzer to open the glass door.

"Would you leave us for a minute?" It was less of a question than a request. Greg looked uneasy at Mycroft but finally obliged, closing the door of the cell behind the elegant man.

Mickey made an attempt to speak when he became aware of Mycroft but was instantly stopped by the man raising his hand, a gesture that didn't allow for any kind of disobedience.

"Allow me to explain the terms and conditions of the deal I am about to offer you. An offer I wouldn't advise you to refuse." He was puzzled by his own expression for a second, trying to work out where he had picked it up. "I have paid the fine for your little fit of erratic behaviour so you are free to go. I have also secured a place for you in a prestigious rehab centre specialised on the treatment of alcoholism. They await your arrival this afternoon. You will stay there until they believe you fit to be released and then you will turn up on your daughter's wedding at your best behaviour, telling her she is brilliant and everything you could ever have asked for in a daughter. The same with your son. In the future I expect you to call both your children at least once a month and to send a card for every of the usual occasions, birthdays, awards, Christmas et cetera. If you fullfil these conditions to my satisfaction I will stop the police from raiding your shop and discovering all the illegal goods you are handling there. I will also refrain from initialising a tax fraud investigation on your business if you manage to keep your side of this contract. Now, what do you think? Do we have a deal here?"

"That's not a deal, that's good old extortion!" 

Mycroft smiled his iciest grin. "It's your one chance to get out of this relatively unharmed and to get rid of me. It's your choice, either you accept my help with sorting out your life or you just go on as you did with a little extra helping of legal problems caused by me. So choose wisely, you have five minutes to think about it, I need to make a call." With that he knocked at the door for Greg to let him out. He leaned against the wall in the hallway and took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

"Having a shit day?" Greg chuckled.

"You have no idea."

 

Mickey looked uneasy at the interior of the black car. He figured the leather on the seats was more expensive than everything he had ever owned. Mycroft sat next to him, fiddling with his phone on no end.

"Hi, Emily dear. I'm with your father at the moment, I'll explain the details as I get back. Be so kind as to clear our schedules for today and tomorrow. I will be back for dinner. No, I don't think he will join us, he is quite busy the next few weeks." He gave him an austere look as he spoke.

"So, what will you tell her then? That you bullied me into this? Not sure she will like that." He huffed and turned towards the blackened window.

"I will tell her that her father finally got to his senses and agreed to get the treatment he is in need of. I will tell her that he is sorry for the way he treated them both the other night and that it won't be happening again. As to what she infers about how exactly this miracle came about is not in my power to decide. But sadly, she knows me well enough to take an educated guess. So I will explain my motives and apologize for the impoliteness neccessary in conducting them."

"Gee, you are a freak."

"You're not the first to call me that and I'm beginning to take it as a compliment when it comes from underdeveloped minds like yours."

The rest of the drive was spent in silence.

 

They stood in the kitchen, Mycroft keeping the middle aisle between them as a safety margin. He had altered his original plan and related the whole story to her the way it had happened instead of waiting for her to catch him on bending the truth even as he was still speaking. Ten seconds had elapsed since he had spoken his last word and so far there was no reaction from her side but the usual, continuous stare. He crossed his arms and waited for the storm to hit him.

"I think this is the point where you yell at me, dear."

"Is it?"

"Of course, something along the lines of how I dare to get involved with your business, how I'm not supposed to take up your battles for you, you know the drill."

"Yes, I was thinking about that, just now. But then it occured to me that if I had been in your position, I would have done exactly the same thing."

He felt like his mind was imploding. He shook his head and looked at her again, watched a wide grin spread over her face as she closed the gap between them and decidedly grabbed his collar to pull him into a kiss and further towards the living room pulling his jacket off with her other hand as they stumbled along the way.


	47. Proof of Sentiment

"Can't remember having given you keys either." Mycroft didn't look up from the sheet he was scribbling on when Sherlock entered. It was early still and the sun was just about coming round the corner so the piano was still in a shady corner of the room. He was sitting on the small bench before it, making corrections in a piece of music. Sherlock ignored the comment and opened his violin case, almost caressing it as he took it out.

"I can see you had an interesting evening. So these activites are no confined to your office then after all."

Mycroft looked at him over the rim of his glasses he wore for reading. "What could you possibly mean?" 

His brother's look wandered to the floor underneath the piano and then he spotted it as well, his tie had ended up there, next to a blue sock, too small to be his own. No point denying the obvious. He reached for the telltaling items with his foot and drew them near to pick them up.

"Could we please try and concentrate on the task at hand now? What did you do so far?"

Sherlock grinned.

"Oh, do grow up, will you?"

"Made it this far without, so: no." He placed the violin on his shoulder and began to play, his eyes closing on the second bar. He didn't need the sheet to remember the melody as it was the expression of a feeling he was carrying with him all the time. The melody was soft and happy, somewhere in there were birds sitting on a wire chirping, the sun playing in the leaves of the trees, swaying in the wind. He saw himself carrying her through the park, felt the warmth of her tiny body radiating against his skin. And he saw John, waiting for them on a bench, gazing happily at a pond full of ducks and water lilies. Somewhere in there was the feeling ofJohn's hand in his and of laughter bursting from him against his will on bad, melancholy days.

"That is beautiful Sherli. What is all the jumping at the end?"

"She started to walk the other day."

Mycroft kept scribbling into the bars, before finally putting his fingers to the keys. Sherlock was content to find their work fitting very nicely. He joined in somewhere around the middle and lost himself in the pictures evolving in front of his eyes.

"Want me to write it out porperly?" Sherlock nodded and handed his sheets to Mycroft who placed them with his own into a brown folder. 

"Did you have breakfast?" Sherlock rolled his eyes as Mycroft left for the kitchen and so he got in his place at the piano. 

"John wouldn't let me leave the house until I ate something. All that eating, I interferes with my thinking." He picked up the folder again and turned the loose pages. "To John Hamish Watson upon his Birthday" Mycroft had written on the top. He weighed his head, the song was more than that, the title precise but insufficient. With Myc's piano parts added, it was telling the story of three families coming together, its sound suddenly told the story of odd pieces that wouldn't fit before, suddenly falling into place by pure chance. He instantly had to think of a jigsaw he used to do as a child, it had pieces in it that were formed like objects and people. It had always fascinated him how the ballet dancer and the tea cup had smoothly joined together to merge into the greater picture. He picked up the pencil and added a  bracketed title to Myc's: "The finished jigsaw ."

"How is your lecture coming along then?" Mycroft now stood behind him holding his cup close to his lips.

"I finished it, Jonah went over the slides, said it would be fine."

"I'm certain IT will be fine but what about you?"

A deep breath escaped Sherlock against his will. "Of course I will be fine. I mean it's just a group imbeciles playing police on a daily basis."

"The last time you had to do something like that it was just a group of imbeciles watching two people getting married and it was enough to completely unsettle you. Poor Mrs Potter is still not over the shock when of when she found you the night of the wedding, shaking like a leaf, huddled up on my doorstep." 

"Well, even you must see the difference between the two events. Watching John getting married and me finally having the chance to tell those inefficient loonies how to do their job."

"Right, just wanted to offer my help, no reason to pout."

"I don't need your help, thank you."

Silence spread between them, Mycroft sipping his tea and Sherlock leafing through the folder.

"What's the long, untitled one?"

"Private."

Spurned by the quick answer and a tinge of red around Mycroft's ear, he took the sheets and placed them on the piano. Five bars into the piece he knew all he ever could have wanted to know about the state of his brother's heart. It was brilliantly done, sometimes he believed he could hear her voice in it.

"God, if anyone ever finds out, that you are such a romantic at heart, your reputation is ruined forever."

"That's why it's staying in the folder and you will keep it to yourself for once." Mycroft grabbed the pages and carefully placed them back into the folder.

 

"John, over here!" Molly waved at him, almost knocking the person in the row behind her over. He smiled and made his way towards her. The room was already half full, he spotted Greg talking to Anderson and Donovan, looking very grim indeed.

"So nervous, I mean he showed me and it's brilliant as always, but you know what he can get like." John again smiled as she rattled away. He was scanning the rows for any more famliar faces from the Yard and was very surprised to find Mycroft's face in the crowd. He stood very close to the door, almost melting into the wall. It was an effect John had noticed and admired on him before. The man was able to completely vanish from everybody's apperception if he chose to do so. Like a flounder burying itself in the sand.

"Ouh, there he is!" Molly was jumping like a rubber ball next to him, pulling his sleeve and pointing at Sherlock who began placing some papers on the lectern. He seemed relatively calm and collected. John hadn't seen him in the morning, he had been out of the house even before John got up. Their eyes met and Sherlock smiled, causing another fit of waving in Molly.

"Good morning. Today's topic is how to use a victim's stomach content to make deductions about his or her lifestyle and character. Simple, really, but Lestrade asked me to keep your limited mental capacity in mind so we are going to start with the obvious." Sherlock pressed a button on a remote control and a picture of a corpse was projected at the wall behind him.

"Brilliant!" Molly muttered slightly too loud as the murmuring in the room quickly had died away. John couldn't help but smile and roll his eyes once more.

 

"Ha, that went well, except for the two officers having to leave when you opened that stomach live, under the visualizer." John's face glowed with excitement and that provided Sherlock with a pang of pride. He carelessly dropped the opened stomach into a container and collected his script as people were leaving the room.

"That was just...I mean how you explained that...do you think you have time to go to that exhibition of plastinated corpes some time? With me...I mean." Molly was completely out of breath and blushing at speed of light. Sherlock didn't lift his eyes from his bag, packing scalpel and rubber gloves.

"Yes, I was planning on going there anyway. You can come along if you don't insist on talking."

"Sherlock!" John wanted to sound neutral, but he couldn't hide the annoyed timbre. The man looked at him and John knew he had picked up the mood but didn't know what had caused it.

"Oh, you can come with us, John. I just thought you said you don't want to see it, something about being disgusted and unethical treatment of dead bodies." He waved a hand in the air before returning to cleaning up the mess he had produced during his presentation.

The situation was dissolved when Greg reached them and changed the topic, involving Molly in a discussion about the weather. He couldn't help but wonder if Greg had seen what was going on or if it had just been coincidence. 

 

"You didn't tell her."

"Tell whom what, dear?" Sherlock sounded annoyed now as well, the situation was quickly dwindling down, out of his hands.

"About us, Sherlock, you didn't tell Molly about us." He stopped to force Sherlock to face him.

"No, why should I?"

John sighed in exasperation. "Good Lord, you have no idea, do you?"

"No, and you seem to be rubbish at explaining."

"Sherlock, she thinks you want to go on a date."

"It isn't my job to keep people from jumping to wrong conclusions, is it? And why are you so concerned about what she thinks?"

"First of all she is a friend and I don't want her to get hurt again. Secondly, I wonder why you keep us such a secret from people close to us!"

Sherlock blinked and stared. "It's not like I denied my involvement with you."

"Lie by omission, Sherlock!" John was yelling now, people stopped and stared at them. He huffed and turned, marching away to flee the unwanted attention.

 

He gave up the waiting around midnight. Sherlock hadn't returned home and John's anger was added to by his worry. He remembered all too well where Sherlock had gone after their last fight. All his messages remained unanswered. And there had been at least a dozen in the last hour or so. John admitted defeat and dialed Mycroft's number. Despite the time of day the call was almost immediately taken.

"I'm sorry Mycroft, it's John here. Sherlock hasn't come home, we had a kind of fight. Do you have any idea where he could be?"

"Is this about your dispute in the hallway at St. Bart's?"

John closed his eyes. How could he have believed Mycroft to not know about this.

"It is indeed."

"My brother is a man of many bad habits as I know from own experience, one being to run away whenever facing conflict with people he cares about. I therefore have been keeping track of his movements without relying on his collaboration for a long time now. Tursting in your ability to keep this a secret, I will send you a link to a web page that will enbale you to track him down. You will use it now and then delete the link and clear your browser history, my brother does not react well to this kind of infringement on his privacy. It's enough if he holds a grudge on me for this."

"I'd rather you just told me where he is. So, uhm I could blame it all on you?" John felt horrible but his worry was worse than the bad conscious.

"As you wish and you certainly can. He will hold me responsible anyhow." He heard a computer booting in the background.

"Do you have a pen? It's an address downtown, looks like a pub to me." 

John scribbled the address into the margin of his paper while wondering who else Mycroft kept track of this way. He hoped for him he had withstood the temptation to use these methods on Emily, he didn't want to imagine her reaction if ever she found out.

"A pub, what would he go to a pub for?"

"I'll leave that to you to find out. Would you be so kind as to leave me a message when you found him?"

"Of course."

 

It was kind of embarrassing to wake Mrs Hudson in the middle of the night and he muttered something about an emergency with Sherlock when he pressed the baby monitor into her hands. She didn't seem to mind awfully much but John added his embarrassment to his mental list of Sherlock's misbehaviour anyway. He flagged a cab and gave the address of the pub. 

"They will be about to close when we get there mate, that's the other side of town."

"Just picking someone up."

The pub really was just about to close when John entered, the waiter trying to convince the last guests to get on their way, another already putting the chairs onto the tables. Sherlock was sitting at the bar, his head in both hands. John sighed and pointed at him when the waiter was about to speak to him about them closing.

"Sherlock, what are you doing here, I was worried out of my bloody mind!" He hissed at him, moving a half emptied pint away from the man.

"It's what people do when they break up, isn't it? And you always want me to do what people do. But I'm not people, I think. And I don't like beer, it smells funny."

"For the fact that you don't like it, you seem to have had rather a lot of it. Can you get up?"

"Why?"

"Because we are going home."

"I can't go home."

"And why is that?"

"You don't like me any more because I'm not people."

"That's bollocks, Sherlock."

"You never tell people either, but you get angry if I don't. All the nurses at work still think you don't flirt with them any more because Mary is dead, they don't know about me."

"And how do you know that?"

"I called the other day and said I wanted to speak to you and they said no private calls but immediate family in cases of emergency and I said I was your boyfriend and she laughed at me and hung up."

"Oh shit, Sherlock. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I thought you didn't want anybody to know and that's fine with me as long as we don't fight and you are happy, but now you got angry at me and I am confused. I don't like being confused, John."

The waiter behind the bar began giving them impatient looks and John nodded at him. He grabbed Sherlock by the arm and threw some notes onto the table before lifting the swaying detective out of his seat. Outside he once more got hold of a taxi and manoevred what was left of the most brilliant man in town into the back seat. Sherlock immediately leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. John watched him and picked up his hand, holding it all the way home.

 

A knife was going through his brain, somehow not killing him immediately but setting the room to turn around him like a roundabout. The sounds his mouth produced sounded very unfamiliar, not surprising with regard to the size of his tongue this morning.

"Good morning, brother mine." The voice cut his brain once more.

"Headache I assume?"

"Where's John?"

"At work."

"What d'you want?" He felt every sound pulsing in his brain.

"He asked me to babysit on Sarah and you."

The appropriate reply was hiding from him somewhere in a dark corner of his very sore brain and he finally gave up its pursuit.

"Feel funny, Myc."

"I thought you would, intoxicated yourself badly. Though, I am relieved about your choice of drug this time."

"Myc, I mean it, I feel funny!"

"What do you mean f...oh!" He only just made it with the bucket around the bed before Sherlock bent over. When his stomach felt empty enough, Sherlock dropped back into the cushion and closed his eyes. He had decided he would not get up today, possibly never again. 

"John asked me to give you this when you wake up." Myc held a sheet of paper before his pained eyes. He saw two of them and opted for grabbing somewhere in the middle but his hands refused to obey.

"Read it."

"I think the important part is the stuff down here. Contact in case of emergency: William Sherlock Scott Holmes, 221b Baker Street. Degree of relationship: life partner.

"What's the date on it?"

"This morning, I saw him printing it. But there is an older one as well, dated four years ago. He put you down then as well, as friend."

Sherlock swallowed hard, he felt tears building up in his eyes. He certainly would not cry in front of Mycroft, so he just bent over the bucket again, forcing his stomach to relieve itself of any remaining content.

"I happened to attend a very interesting lecture just yesterday about the connection of stomach content and the character of victims of crime. Would you like me to demonstrate what I learned? Though I don't think my interpretation would be favourable one today."

Sherlock gave him a very nasty look, or at least the closest equivalent he was capable of with the light in the room offending his eyes and brain.

"I think Sarah is hungry. Make sure you close the door behind yourself on the way out."

 


	48. Mycroft has to Babysit

He looked like a ghost when he came into the kitchen, wrapped in a sheet and nothing else. Mycroft studied him over the screen of his laptop. 

"Ah, you getting up just before the afternoon looking like you have been beaten up, the smell of vomit filling the air, it just takes me back to those old times."

"Where are all the...things gone?" Sherlock obviously felt too bad to quarrel.

"You mean the dirty dishes and other garbage cluttering the kitchen? I cleaned it up."

"Why?"

"I needed somewhere to sit without being in danger of catching black death!"

His brother got into the chair opposite, clearly thinking how to formulate a request that had him brought out of the bedroom in the first place.

"If you are here to ask me for another pain killer, over my dead body, Sherlock."

The white face opposite shook hesitantly.

"I'm not playing the guessing game, what is it?"

"In a bad mood? I didn't ask you to waste your day looking after me."

He took a breath and swallowed the sharky replies waiting to burst from him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it. What do you want?"

"Do you remember when you used to make these pancakes for me? You know, the ones with icecream and fruit in it?"

"Yes, I think so. You told me they were absolutely disgusting but made me do them every time you came to my place at uni."

"I think John would like them. Can you show me?"

 

Mycroft was glad he had been to the shops before when trying to find diapers for Sarah. Doing it with Sherlock and a baby was a completely different story all together. He had lost sight of his brother even before the sliding doors had closed completely behind him. Sarah was rioting in her pram for no obvious reason and already he felt elderly ladies flocking from every corner, good advice glistening in their eyes.

He knelt down and whispered to the child who was already turning purple in the face.

"Sarah, please, I thought you were on my side. Please, calm down." The child looked at him with big swollen eyes as if considering his proposition. She grabbed for the chain on his watch and he sighed. 

"As if you were related to him." He handed her the watch and she began chewing on it.

"This place is full of very stupid people. The guy who is supposed to sell fruit and veg is trying to have me on by saying there aren't any strawberries at this time of the year. Told him his colleague at the meat counter is only faking it with him, that will teach him."

Mycroft didn't answer but looked at his brother in a way he had seen John do it in moments like this, hoping the effect was transferable.

"What?" It wasn't.

"There are no strawberries in March."

"So how do people do strawberry pancakes then?"

"They either don't and have apples instead or they use frozen ones." His brother was gone before he could raise his finger completely to point in the direction of the frozen goods section. He watched him pace along the long row of fridges causing quite a scene for everybody around when opening them all without closing them again. He decided to pretend he didn't know that man and hid himself in the aisle with the magazines.

 

Sarah keeps getting fits of anger and chews on random objects. MH

 

Sorry, I forgot to tell you! It's the teeth coming through. I'm sorry if she is giving you a hard time. Let me see if I can leave early. Tell Sherlock to apply the cream I gave him. JW

 

No need, I'll manage. MH

 

I o u JW

 

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself young man?"

"Pardon?" He turned his head to find an elderly lady staring at him, hands on her hips.

"Looking at smut while your child is with you! What has the world come to?"

Mycroft binked completely confused before he noticed he had been facing the rack catering adult magazines while typing his messages to John. To her it must have looked like he was browsing them.

"I was just..." She huffed and waved her finger at him before turning away.

 

"Sherlock!" He was yelling at the top of his voice now. The curly head popped up in the cleaning aisle looking around himself like a very confused puppy. 

"I don't understand why John is always complaining about having to do the shopping, this is rather interesting." He was clutching his shopping against his chest and then dropped it all at once onto the conveyor belt at the check out. One of the packets of whipped cream split and spilt over the belt and floor. The cashier released a curse and handed Sherlock some paper towels which he used to clean his fingers, apparently utterly confused about the evil looks it gained him from her.

"I should have known he is one of that sort. Both unable to even do shopping but trying to bring up a child without a woman around to help. The world really has gone down." Mycroft didn't have to turn, he recognized the creaking voice instantly. It took him quite a lot not to turn around and cause even more fuzz, he was just fervently praying for once Sherlock would not figure out what the comment was supposed to mean. One look into his brother's eyes however told him, the hoping was in vain. The old habit of being the older brother got hold of him and he turned around to face the woman once more. Before he could open his mouth however, he heard Sherlock hiss his name. 

"Myc, just drop it." He loaded what was left of their shopping into the back of the pram and they walked home in silence.

 

When John came home he double checked if he hadn't walked into the wrong flat. The floor had been cleaned, the blankets on the couch were neatly folded, there were even flowers on the kitchen table that was set for two. The candles hadn't been lit yet and there was something boiling on the stove. The giggling of his daughter invaded the living room from the bathroom together with Sherlock's deep but happy voice.

"Ah, you're back already." He handed him Sarah who smelled of soap and talkum and kissed his forehead. He wore a fresh shirt and his hair had been groomed with even more than the usual care.

"If this is your way of apologising for walking out on me and getting drunk, we will make this a weekly occurrence." He laughed, still surprised by the scene unfolding itself in his living room.

"You would have to find a substitute babysitter then I'm afraid, I won't be as readily available in the next few days." Mycroft entered from the study, putting on his jacket. "Don't worry I'm as good as gone." He rushed by John, eager not to disturb whatever this was supposed to be.

"You're away.... for work then?"

Mycroft gave a strange smile. "Not me, Emily. She has flown out for some negotiations on her own, so I will be covering the work at the office alone till some time next week."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know that. if you ever feel like having dinner here though..."

He nodded and winked at him. "Some other time, I'm off to meet Jonah."

 

John leaned back into the couch, sleepy from all the pancakes and the activities that had been ensued by the meal. Sherlock rubbed his head against his thigh as he was running his fingers through the silky curls.

"Did you know she is gone away?"

"Emily? No."

"Seems odd she wouldn't mention it."

"Probably because neogotiations is family code for "don't ask too many questions."

"Oh. So it's not really a conference of sorts?"

"As far as I could gather from his computer she is doing basic field training somewhere in Mongolia."

"As far as you could gather from his computer? You snooped around his computer?" 

"He was in a very foul mood and I wanted to know if it was because of me, but seems he is just really worried. There haven't been any messages from her in his inbox for two days."

"You checked his messages?"

"John, are you aware that your repetition of my contribution to this conversation turns this from a dialogue into a strange monologue of mine?"

"Since when do you mind holding monologues?"

"True."


	49. To the Countryside

"What did you do before you met me? You must have done something in the evenings." 

"Why are you wearing a swimming suit?" 

"How should I know, it's your head, love!" She leaned forward and her wet lips brushed his before she shoved herself off the rim of the pool in which his feet tangled. Three quick and powerful strokes and she had crossed half of the space. He felt the water grow cold the further she disappeared. Ice began building at the corners of the pool, it ached and burned in his legs.

"This is ridiculous, I know you are coming back. It's just a few days." He hoped the declaration would stop the freezing and it did to a certain degree. She was on her way back and once more lifted herself up so her face aligned with his, the water was dropping from her and onto his lap and chest. That's not really what worries you Mycroft, there is no point in lying to yourself."

"You tell me then what worries me according to you." He grasped her face and brought his lips close to hers, almost touching, waiting to feel her breathe the words onto his skin.

"You know that it's dangerous and that now there is no way you will keep me out of things any more. Until now you hoped you could just keep me away, that you could keep me save."

"Clever deduction Miss Holmes, oh so clever!" He mocked her to hide how perfectly she had summed up what he had been unable to formulate for days. He closed his eyes, finding her mouth with his fingers to place a kiss on it. With a smile she avoided him just to bite his neck. The pain made him open his eyes. The drops of water running out of her hair and down her slender limps had turned red, blood red.

When he woke he was covered in sweat and felt the panic already building in his chest. He needed to distract himself if he was to stop the attack which would last all night as there was no one to talk him through it. The house would be that empty if ever anything would be happening to her. This was what it would be like. It was too late, he felt his lungs shrink and his breath flatten. He turned on the TV and tried to repeat everything the presenter said in his mind to distract himself.

"This is what I did when you weren't here, there you got your answer."

 

There was something in the air, everybody felt it, everybody seemed to react with the same aggression. People hissed at each other in the hallways, ignored each other otherwise. The news of the double agents and their arresting had spread quickly and raised suspicions towards everybody. Mycroft hid himself in his office, avoiding any tasks that would require contact. His selfinflicted exile however didn't prevent him from hearing the noise of people assembling in the hallway in front of his office. The voices were firm but calm at first then someone raised the tone slightly, yelling began, a door was slammed open followed by a shot. His secretary stumbled into the room, breathing hysterically. 

"They arrested Brian, he is supposed to have been involved." Mycroft quickly got up and shoved her out of the way to get to the hallway. Already there had a crowd of onlookers gathered .

"Brian what is going on?" The man looked at him when he walked past, chaperoned by three security men and an official he had only once met at Buckingham palace. His supervior walked just a few steps behind them, looking rather grave. 

 

"He's suppposed ot have accepted money for passing on information on your project in Japan. Didn't you notice that he passed on information? I mean, he must have snooped around, how do you explain your failure to keep the information safe?"

"I can't imagine he could have done such a thing. He wasn't even directly involved. What do you base your accusation on?"

"We found these in his desk." She dropped a folder on his desk that he instantly recognized as his own. 

"Mr Holmes I have been asked to suspend you until we have made sure that you aren't yourself involved in this case of bribery." 

Mycroft huffed and turned towards the window. "Why should I accept money to torpedate my own project in which I'm also privately rather...involved."

"It's usual procedure as you very well know. I'm afraid I can't spare you this." He nodded. When he didn't say anything more, she got up and left.

 

"Heard about it just now. They don't really believe that you are involved in this, do they?" Jonah was breathing irregularly, both because he had been running here and because he was excited. Mycroft needed all his concentration to calm his voice, there was no point in upseting the boy further by showing of his own anger.

"It certainly doesn't shed a favourable light on me that folders of classified information just materialise in other offices without me knowing about it. I still don't see why Brian would do something like that. It's just...illogical."

"But surely there must be something you can do to find out. why not contact that man Sherlock bribed in Tokyo? Surely he would know why Brian is involved in it."

Mycroft nodded. It was something he had thought about as well. Only now that he was suspended, it would be more than suspicious to seek contact with a collaborator on the other side.

"I could go. Apart from you nobody in here takes me serious anyway, if I go and meet him, nobody would care."

"How did you..." 

Jonah smiled at him and blushed just slightly. "You're not the only smart person in the room."

"Apparantly not. But it might be just better to send Sherlock, since he trusts him. As far as trust goes in these matters anyway."

 

John got up to open the door before the two men had even reached the bottom of the stairs. By now he could tell their arrival from the quiet thud of a car door opening and closing in front of the house. 

"Is Sherlock home?"

"And good evening to you Jonah, no he is out to meet someone of the homeless network." 

He wasn't granted another answer, Jonah stopped on the stair he was standing on and took out his mobile. Typing furiously he went back down the stairs and the doors closed behind him again.

"Do you actually want to come in or will you also disappear as suddenly as you came?"

The older Holmes looked tired and wore a line on his forehead John had learned to recognize as his worried face. It took him two enormous steps to get to the top of the stairs and to enter the flat. It was not until he had taken of his coat and jacket that Mycroft seemed in a mood to be spoken to and to actually answer.

"Any particular reason for your unannounced visit?"

"I'm very sorry to interrupt your evening John but events have taken a course that made my unannounced visit neccessary. There is something I would like to ask of you and Sherlock, a task I am currently unable to e care of myself."

John sat down on the arm of Sherlock's chair and studied the man. It was amazing how quickly Mycroft could slip in and out of the intimacy that had built to some degree between them when work was involved. 

"You've got my full attention and I don't mind you coming here, it's just usually not a good sign when you pop up without notice."

"I'm afraid this one is no exeption to the rule. I have been suspended from work because one of my staff seems to be involved in this whole bribery business. I need you to get in touch with your contact from Tokyo and find out who exactly is organising the espionage activities in the office."

"Sure, Sherlock could need some time away from his desk, the work is turning him rather silent and moody."

"Would you be prepared to leave first thing in the morning? I thought you could take the train, cover it it up as a weekend trip to the country side. Tickets and hotel would be on me of course and if you would trust me to take care of Sarah again..."

John couldn't answer, he was interrupted by the door being violently opened.

"Pack your bags John, the game is on!"

 

The fog and humid caught in the train station leaving everything damp. John swore under his breath when the paper cup of coffee burnt his fingertips. Sherlock had thrown everything he believed them to need for the weekend into one backpack and left it to him to carry it around. He figured that -since he hadn't bothered to go to sleep- Sherlock didn't feel the early hour in his bones as much as John did. He could have dropped anywhere and fallen asleep. He was hoping for a rahter ampty train that woudl allow him to continue his slumber at least another hour. 

"Do you think we will ever do a proper holiday? You know one where there is no case, no involvement of your brother."

"One should never give up hope. Though I must say that sounds rahter boring. What would one do with oneself? Read? Lie at the beach?"Sherlock snorted and the dream of spending a proper holiday with Sherlock on a tropical island just burst like a soap bubble in his head which further darkened John's mood.

There were little other people on the train and so John leaned against the window and hoped to quickly fall asleep as the city vainshed and turned into green fields that were still wet with morming dew.

As soon as they had left the train station, Sherlock began to walk with an enourmous speed John was almost unable to follow. He stumbled along as they passed other hikers in search for the right track to start their tour.

"This is it. We ought to follow the yellow triangle to the next town and from there it's pretty much cross field."

Sherlock wouldn't cut down on his pace until they reached the first enclosure with grazing sheep. Sherlock gave the animals a very suspicious look before consulting his map once more.

"Got lost?" John was relishing in the expression of respect bordering onto fear on his face. 

"Don't be ridiculous. We have to cross this field and over the river there."

"Go on then, open the gate."

Sherlock sighed and carefully stepped thrrough the gate, keeping close to the stone walls at first. With sudden determination he then began walking off towards the exit on the other side and straight onto the sheep. As they reached the flock, one of them turned its head towards them and started bleating. It stopped the tall man in his tracks, eyes firmly fixed on the sheep.

"Do you honestly want to tell me you're scared of sheep?"

"I'm not scared of them, they hate me."

"Sheep hate you."

"I'm serious John, they are devious creatures that maime to be tame and then come for you when you turn your back at them."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard you say. Come on now, I'll protect you from the bad,evil sheep." He took his hand and pulled the hesitant man with him through the flock. And then something happened he never would have anticipated. They had almost crossed through the flock when suddenly there was movement in it. A ram came running towards them and before John could as much as blink it hit Sherlock into his backside so he fell over his own feet and landed in the field face forward. He was too stunned to even laugh as Sherlock slowly got up, sheep dropping all over his beloved coat. The look in his eyes was something between furious and hurt pride as he marched past John not looking back until he reached the exit gate. When they had brought the protecting wall between themselves and the attacking animals, John bent over with laughter.

"I told you, it happens every time."

"You mean sheep always attack you like this?"

"Stop laughing this is by no means funny."

"Oh, no it is hilarious. The great Sherlock Holmes is the arch enemy of sheep." John was now leaning against the wall, his sides hurting from laughing.

"Oh why don't you just stay here then and amuse yourself." The coat was swirling wildly as Sherlock turned and walked on. John wiped his eyes with his sleeve and followed, still giggling.

 

Around noon Sherlock finally stopped on a hill and checked that the enclosures around them were sheep free. He reached for the backpack on John and pulled out a lunch box filled with Mrs Hudson's casserole.

"Time to eat for those who indulge in such peculiarities." He opened it for John and produced a fork.

"As your doctor I must advise you to eat as well."

"Maybe later." He went around the top of the hill scanning their surroundings.

"It must be that house there." He pointed to a cottage that was in slight distance to the village.

"You think we will be greeted...friendly?" He shrugged and dropped next to John.

 

They were in and out of the cottage within half an hour. Sherlock had dropped another large envelope filled with money onto the kitchen table and that had broken down any initial resistance to answer questions. John had felt awkward when he saw the man's son playing in the garden. He was reminded of the feeling he had kindled in his heart when he believed Mary and Sarah to be in danger. Sherlock had not shown any sympathy for their contact's initial attempts of negotiation. When he finally was handed some papers with names and pictures, Sherlock produced a set of passports and tickets which he silently abandoned on the sideboard. The woman picked them up and gave them a grateful look which John avoided.

"It just disgusts me, the whole business, it just feels dirty at times. Using someone's fear for their family to save others."

Sherlock didn't answer but put up the collar of his coat as they slowly walked towards the village.

 

"You recognize anyone?"

"Yes, not that surprising, we had him under suspicion already. He went to school with us." Sherlock closed the file when the waitress brought tea and scones to their table. 

"I think I heard you mention the name before."

"Mycroft and he hate each other, always have. They don't miss any chance to get into a row really." He took out his phone and began typing a message to his brother.

"You know him as well?" There was no answer but John did not miss the blink in Sherlock's eyes and the quick bite he gave his lower lip.

 

"It's Steve. I'm waiting for Sherlock to bring the evidence back with him some time tomorrow." The line was was very unstable but he was glad to hear her voice at all.

"Just make sure you don't rush anything or do something you will regret."

"It's not like I can do anything right now, I'm more or less grounded." He imagined her as she spoke, thought of her face and tried to imagine what it looked like when her lips formed the words.

"I miss you, Emmi."

"Hello? Hello? Mycroft?"

The line had broken down again. He dropped his head on his desk feeling its cold surface on his forehead. Another night was approaching quickly and he dreaded nothing more than going to bed.

 

He wasn't asleep when the doorbell rang just before midnight. He immediatly had a feeling that this was going to end in something difficult. He reached for his gown and went for the door. 

"Mr Holmes we are here in order to search your house for evidence of fraud and bribery." He didn't know the men in front of his door and he was certain he had never seen them before.

"Can I see the warrant then?" He made sure the door wasn't opened too wide behind him. 

"Certainly." The officer reached for the inside of his coat. The rest was blur. He remembered breathing in a strange smell before the world around him went black.

 


	50. Keeping Vigil

He had never seen his brother so defenseless. When the man woke at the hospital, it must have been their mother's voice he heard first. He had tried his best to keep them from coming here, knowing that Mycroft would probably feel awkward about her seeing him in such a state but there was no way he could have stopped her once she heard what had happened. Jonah kept his distance but hovered about the area around the room most of the time, Sherlock was sure it was from the same sentiment of utter confusion he felt when he had seen his brother's white face on the pillow, connected to a system of tubes and machines. The same feeling that had bound him to the ward for the entire night, just waiting for what, he knew not. Their mother had hugged Jonah several times which had added to his discomfort, as he was not feeling like talking about the day behind them. Jonah had called John when Mycroft had not picked up Sarah at Mrs Hudson's, they had still been at the hotel. The conversation had been short and John had urged him not to worry, that Mycroft maybe had just got stuck in a conference and would call any minute. Jonah hadn't believed it and had made his way to the house in the morning to find it seemingly deserted. The kidnappers had pulled him into the house when they had found him going round the garden. He had sat next to an unconscious Mycroft for about twelve hours in the basement before he had managed to get to the kitchen and had opened the gas tab. The explosion when one of the men had lit a cigarette had killed two of them and injured two more. It had also ripped the front wall of the kitchen open and alarmed the neighbours and eventually MI6.

He recognized Mycroft supervisor when she came down the hallway, looking serious but well composed. He knew what was about to happen, could see the next couple of minutes play out in front of his eyes. She would tell him that Steve had been arrested, that the kidnappers had been interrogated and the warrants for a dozen more people were going out this very minute. She would thank him for his work and he would nod but not answer. It would be then that her face would turn more grave and worried, Sherlock could see it happen in front of his eyes when he closed them. He had seen the face before on other occasions. She would clear her throat before telling him that the undercarriage of the plane Emily had been in wouldn't open and that it had crashed on the tarnac of the little airport they all knew so well. This was the part he had difficulty to picture as he had no idea what his brother's face looked like when his heart was smashed and battered to pieces, what lines would form, how his eyes might change as the information sunk in. He had a feeling he should be there when he would begin to ask questions, maybe would turn nervous and desperate. But he was unsure what he should do, it usually was his brother who calmed people, who set things right again.

The face was nothing he ever could have estimated, it was as if he could see the exact moment his brother's heart stopped beating for a second or two, it was a blink of the eye before the confident face he knew so well turned into that of a worried child. It turned grey and flat as they told him she was still in the operating theatre, where she had been for some four hours now. He watched John step in and explain some details, slowly and careful, always checking Mycroft's face for the moment things would become too much, the moment information would no longer calm but augment the panic. There was a long stretch of nothingness they all were unable to fill and it came as a strange relief to them when Jonah suddenly began to sob, his head dropping on Mycroft's shoulder. He could almost feel the warmth of the hand himself as it found Jonah's arm, as it gently pressed reassurance into the skin. It was a gesture he had received so many times from his brother in moments of complete despair. 

Never before though had he seen his brother cry. The tears rolled down the pale face once his father had taken Jonah outside, speaking gently as they went to find a doctor to ask about any news. It started with few and far between but soon a rythm was building despite the fight Mycroft put up to stop it. It was not until then that he dared to get near the whiteness of the bed and the body in it. He picked up a resting hand slack and lifeless to the touch and held it in his, watching the tears roll down what was no longer a face but bore resemblance to a skull. He desperatly tried to think of what he would like to hear if it had been John, not Emily and him not his brother lying there, anything he figured would have offered him comfort. The mere thought however caused such shock to his brain, he was unable to think at all. He inspected the bruises the bonds had left on the wrists with agony, his head numb with all the unfamiliar worry.

"Want me to check if there is any news?" His voice sounded feeble and like that of a child, he hated it himself. Mycroft shook his head but held on to his hand with slightly more pressure. His face was turned towards the window as if he was looking at the park outside but his eyes were closed.

"John, please do me a favour and check on Jonah, he must be feeling awkward." John nodded and pressed Sherlock's shoulder on his way out, ignoring Sherlock's look of desperation pleading him to stay. The moment the door closed very silently behind John, Mycroft gave up all defenses and began to cry like a child leaving his brother hopelessly out of his wits about the situation. Eventually he remembered the gesture he had received when lying on the couch in Baker Street crying. He began running his fingers carefully along Mycroft's head and down to his shoulders, feeling the breathing catch but eventually even out into short and regular sobs.

  


John found Jonah well cared for by the father of the brothers and just escaped to the cafeteria for some minutes. He had a feeling that whatever was going on between the brothers in that room at the moment was so fragile, he better not interfere. Never had he dreamt of seeing those two holding hands without anyone forcing them to do so. And yet there they were, the arch enemy brothers silently sharing each others' grief and pain.

There was no holding Mycroft back when the doctors told him she had been brought to a room. It was so uncommon a sight to see the British government so vulnerable and dependent that John almost felt uncomfortable watching Mycroft slowy rise and poke along the corridor. Sherlock wouldn't leave his side, an expression of grim determination on his face. He had to gently pull him out of the room once Mycroft had gotten into a chair next to the bed in which Emily's unconscious body looked like a statue that had fallen from its pedestal. Reminiscence of feelings well buried rose to the surface as he gave the man waiting for any kind of movement next to the bed a final look. When he had Sherlock seen resurrect the second time, he had sat in the exact same chair and carefully touched his hand in the same manner. It had been as if the fate of his life had been cumulated to that room, as if the universe's existence would depend on the continued breathing streaming from the body in this bed. 

  


"Tell me about it." Sherlock lit his cigarette and leaned against a column at the hospital's entrance. He inhaled deeply for once to feel the smoke fill his lungs. His head was empty, the nicotine brought some of it back.

"What do you want to know?" He cherished the feeling of the the cold fumes leaving his lungs when he spoke.

"Everything. All the important stuff. About Steve, why he tries to destroy your brother's life and maybe yours." The amount of emotion in his John's voice stunned him again and again. Why anyone would care, he still didn't understand. But there he was, asking questions, watching him smoke, waiting with him.

"He and Myc used to go to the same class. Steve wasn't really doing well which got him into a lot of trouble with his father. One night he caught me leaving the dorm after curfew, my pockets full of chemicals stolen from the lab. He used it to get me to steal other people's money or do other things. Myc got wind of it and had to play the hero again. He got him to leave me alone by threatening to tell his father that he paid others to do his coursework. Steve quickly figured I was the one thing that would allow him to get the upper hand on Myc. So he just kept coming for me, getting me in trouble for random things. That's how it all started."

"Are you trying to tell me that Steve was prepared to work for Moriarty because he and your brother wouldn't get along at school? I mean I am by now used to absurd ways of reasoning where you and your brother are involved but that just sounds insane." Sherlock gave a sad smile and waited for some nurses to pass them on their way back after a break before he answered.

"The whole affair got a bit out of hand once they went to uni together. I had just turned eighteen. My mother insisted that I spent some of my holidays with Mycroft, on the one hand because I was even more of a nuisance when I got bored during my holidays, on the other she probably hoped his discipline and ambition would rub off on me a little. I hated it and I did everything to make Myc's life hard, I was just fed up with being compared to him all the time. No one could live up to him, not me, anyway. So I got involved with Steve just to annoy Myc."

"What do you mean involved?"

"Well, the usual thing, I wrote him letters and soggy poems, making sure my brother would read them. Steve of course was happy to play along seizing the opportunity to rub my brother up the wrong way as you would probably put it. One night I made sure my brother would find us making out in his flat. I was high most of the time by then and Myc quickly figured it was Steve who kept the supply coming. That was when Myc snapped. He reported Steve to uni for plagiarism and drug abuse. His father managed to cover the whole thing up so he could change to another uni but he had to leave Cambridge."

"Holy...Christ, Sherlock!" He watched John fight through the shock. He didn't know what to expect. He half believed John would turn around never to return, disgusted by what he had told him. The fear blocked his throat and paralysed his limbs. But John didn't move, he watched him, covered his eyes with his hands several times, cursing unashamedly.

"Never said I was a nice person." He had meant it to be an apology of sorts but somehow it came out very wrong, sounding like he was boasting with it.

"Did you, I mean, were you in love with him?"

"It was the logical conclusion to the three main problems in my life back then. He kept me adequately supplied, I had a way of keeping my brother on his toes and I felt like I belonged somewhere. It's not like he treated me badly, I think he might have even liked me or at least was flattered." He added the defense when he saw John's face turn grey and pale staring at him in disbelief. He hadn't planned on telling John any of this but now that he had started, a strange feeling of guilt and urge for selfdestruction made him carry on, he wanted to get it all out, lay all the dark secrets before John and await his verdict.

"Steve and he ended up in the same...department and they kept their feud up all this time?"

Sherlock nodded and a long silence followed. It made him so nervous he burnt himself on his cigarette flipping it in his fingers. John took it from him and extinguished it on a litter box nearby before looking at the wound.

"It's not like I'm proud of it, John. I know I owe him more than I can ever hope to make up for and somehow whenever I try, I get him and me in even more trouble. Whenever something in Myc's life goes wrong you will find me to be at least part of the cause." He began biting the inside of his cheek to not make a complete fool of himself by crying. John's trained eyes immediately caught him on it and he felt a hand coming to rest on his cheek.

"Stop it, stop it right now. I will have no more of this. Stop biting!" It was an order he didn't dare to disobey.

"John." He knew exactly what he wanted to say but somehow he couldn't force the words out of his mouth. Once they were spoken there would be no way of returning. He felt he other hand coming to rest on his other cheek and John turned his head so he would look him directly into the eyes.

"This is the most twisted thing I have heard in a long time and I will have you both sort this out somehow as soon as this is over. Because your brother loves you and damn it, you love him, don't you ever deny it again. But Sherlock, I will not leave you, do you hear me?"

Sherlock nodded, relishing in the warmth of John's hands.

  


"You really ought to go back to bed, you're no help to her not looking after yourself." His mother carefully moved within the room and around the bed her son kept staring at with folded arms. she finally placed herself opposite in the line of his eyes, sighing softly at being ignored.

"You think it wasn't an accident, do you?" The ginger head shook, the stare growing more determined. 

"There are no accidents where she or I are involved. The responsible technician seems to have vanished from this earth." She sucked in her lower lip and turned towards the window. 

"I have been thinking."

"Always a good way of passing the time. To what end?"

"You and Sherlock, I know you never really told me anything that was going on between you and I know there is no point in pressing you for it. I just would like to know how deeply he is involved in this. If I should prepare myself to lose you both."

"He is involved as much as I am. I come to be more and more convinced that this is a family affair, some kind of vendetta. As for who of us is the original cause, I know not."

She nodded her head, turned away from him. The idea that burned in the back of her head could be the solution or blow this family to pieces.

"I have been thinking along the same lines mummy. I just don't know how to adress the thing with dad, it just always ends in a row, which right now I don't feel like."

"Do you think Basil would be capable of such a thing? I know he was a strange child but then no more strange than you or Sherlock."

Mycroft huffed. Their brother had indeed been a strange child with even more morbid tendencies than Sherlock. He remembered the collection of dead animals in the garden hut Basil had kept. Other than Sherlock who had been contempt to draw the birds and squirrels to study them, Basil had killed them to have a better look.

"Mummy, don't you think Sherlock would have been capable of turning the other way if it hadn't been for his naive belief in justice and good?"

She took a careful look at the battered face in hospital clothing, keeping vigil over the fragile, sleeping body of the only person that connected him to the realm of humans.There he was, her oldest, always speaking the truth no matter what it meant for others. It was another of those thoughts she turned in her head from time to time. 

"And you, why did you stick with law and order and not turn the other way?" She tried to smile, make it look like an improbable scenario, a game.

"A sense of duty and fear, nothing nearly as romantic and heroic as Sherlock."

"I see."


	51. John's Deduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who stuck around reading this. I never imagined this story would become such a long beast but somehow it has developed a life of its own. But I have planned the ending now, so I will get there eventually :). Let me know what you think as the dialouge in this one was kind of hard to write.

May had turned very warm quickly. The garden was in full bloom and filled thickly with the scents of fresh grass and flowers. Sherlock listened to the humming of the bees for a moment before putting the cake down on the long table under the apple tree. John was still trying to keep Sarah from eating every worm she could find in the freshly turned dirt of the flower beds. Though he had kept going on about how he did not want anybody to make a fuss over his birthday he had put on a new shirt and looked smart indeed.

"Your brother really has done a great job with this garden. You wouldn't think you are in town at all." He threw Sarah into the air and was granted a gurgle which John insisted on interpreting as something like dad. The doorbell was rung and Sherlock heard the voices come nearer. John threw his arms into the air when Greg stepped onto the patio and the two men hugged. He gave Molly a nod before Mrs. Hudson occupied her entirely with her chatter. Emily stood a little apart from the building crowd, she still seemed weak and it seemed to take an effort for her to stand up for long. He strolled over to join her in her corner and observe the party, something they both enjoyed much more than having to join in the actual conversation.

"I heard him practice your present for John last night, it's brilliant." Sherlock couldn't hide that her praise flattered him more than just a little and she smirked benevolently at him when she noticed.

The cake was cut and Mrs Hudson blushed at the compliments it received, then there was coffee and tea and more cake and laughter until the sun began descending into the apple tree and light became low. John and Mycroft began lighting the paper lanterns swaying in the wind and Sarah began jumping with delight in his lap, reaching for them with her tiny hands sticky with remains of icing.

When he played the piece this time, he made sure not to close his eyes a single time, he wanted to record every second of what it produced in John's face. He looked stunned and incredibly happy, though he held on to his own hand unsure how to behave in front of such an audience. It filled Sherlock with incredible relief to see that his face bore no resemblance to the one he had worn the last time Sherlock had played for him at the wedding.

 

It was well past midnight when John and Mycroft began clearing the tables of emptied bottles and dishes with a hesitant Sherlock picking up the occasional mug just to put it down somewhere else. 

"Jonah, tell your sister to put down that tray immediatly, she is not lift anything heavy!" Jonah rolled his eyes but obeyed and took the tray from a resisting Emily.

"You are being ridiculous." She got hold of a teatowel and flicked it at Mycroft who kept up his austere stare and pressed her into a chair in the corner.

 

John leaned over the piano to get closer to Sherlock's ear who was carefully packing his violin. He couldn't help but get lost in the thought how incredibly sexy John looked that way.

"Did you notice it this time?" He answered John's happy beam with a puzzled look.

"John dear, try to make yourself understood in full sentences if you can."

"You didn't then." The smile was triumphant.

"I doubt that. What are you on about?"

"You see but you don't observe Mr Consulting Detective. Let me show you the evidence."

"Right, Mr Blogger, my attention is all yours. What earthshattering deduction have you made that I am supposed to have missed then."

"Number one:Emily did not have any of the Black Forest cake, though it's one of her favourite, she had apple pie instead which she doesn't usually take. Black Forest cake contains cherry brandy by the way."

"Right."

"Number two: Emily did not have a single drink tonight."

"Which is nothing out of the ordinary, she never drinks."

"Not voluntarily, but usually she gives in when she is offered something -which Greg did- and has a little so people don't notice and stop asking about it."

"Which she didn't do tonight."

"No, she hasn't touched the glass at all. Which leaves us with number three of my absolute brilliant deductions." John was wagging his indexfinger in front of his eyes, his face very close to his now.

"Number three: Mycroft does not allow her to lift anything and in one of the photos Jonah took his hand is resting on her stomach."

"You are trying to imply she is pregnant."

"Ha, now you try to save your reputation by pretending you knew all along but you didn't, you missed it!"

Any response to that accusation was stopped by John's lips covering his and his tongue gently parting them. He tried to regain the upper hand by deepening the kiss, he would never admit to how much it hurt his ego that John had indeed noticed before he had.

 

"Thank you son, you have been of the utmost help, as always." Mycroft nodded at his father as he closed his laptop and watched the old hands collect the letters and bank statements. The management of the family's finances had silently passed into his hands when he was in his mid twenties when his father had come to him for help in a rather delicate affair his mother was not to know about. He had taken care of it because he knew about the state of their parents' marriage, but had made couple therapy a condition for his silence.

"Everything else alright at home?" The old man made a heartfelt attempt to avoid the dreadful silence that spread between them most of the time once business was dealt with.

"Yes, everything fine. She got accepted in Cambridge, the notification came the other night. She is over the moon with joy."

"So she will no longer be at the office?"

"It's part time, just the odd weekend but I assume she will cut back on the hours a little. Nothing I can't compensate."

"As we are talking finances, feel free to use the usual account towards that end or the wedding for that matter."

"She wants to do it on her own."

His father huffed and shook his head. He had not expected him to understand.

"I promised mummy to stay for tea, are you going to join us?" He already knew the answer when he saw him pick up his hat from the hook.

"Oh, no I will not make her share you with me, I shall be checking on the trees, I'm expecting a record harvest this year, the weather has been ideal so far." 

Mycroft held the door of the study open for him and watched him put on his wellingtons with quite some effort. His hand pressed into the wall to stabilise him when he lifted his left leg into the boot. Then his hands slit over his vest feeling for something in its pockets.

"On your head."

"Oh, thank you son." He took his glasses of his head and inspected them before putting them on again. He was growing old, the realization established itself when he compared him to the version of him he kept in the back of his mind palace, a man full of determination and strength.

His mother waited for him on the patio, already sipping on a cup of tea. He pushed his chair further back into the cool spot created by the sun shade and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt just to let them down again when he noticed the indentation of the bonds were still visible. She looked like a postcard motive when seated at her little white metal garden table in front of the rose bushes. To put finishing touches on that impression, she wore a straw head whose brim and bow covered up half her face.

"Did he talk to you?"

"Barely."

She sighed and poured a cup for him. "Mycroft, don't waste the chance, you might regret it one day. He is not as well composed any more as he used to be. The other day he looked for the phone and when I found it ten minutes later, in the fridge of all places, he had forgotten all about it."

He dropped three lumps of sugar in to his tea. The roses, the sun, the hat, nothing could cover up the distinct feeling of estrangement he felt whenever he was here. Sometimes sugar helped to dissolve the dense lump of memories and unspoken and surpressed conversations that lurked in every corner. 

"Dementia?"

"He, we are just getting old, darling."She heaved a piece of cake onto his plate and frowned when he eyed it with his suspicion. "I would hate to know that he left without you...reconciling."

"Im sure I have no idea what you are talking about."

"He never understood what you've got to hold against him, that's what I'm talking about."

He began playing with the teaspoon. The conversation she was referring to had taken place many times in his mind palace. There his father sat in his study, much younger and intimidating. It usually ended with him being in complete rage over his father's inability to understand. He had no desire to make this scene reality.

"I heard about the course when I called her last week . She seemed very happy and I am happy for you."

He nodded and avoided her eyes. 

"I had hoped you would bring her today, I would have liked to have you both here for dinner. Is she at work?"

He shook his head and stared into the depth of his cup.

"Myc, what is it? Did you fight?" The soft voice she used went directly to his guts. He cleared his throat before staring into the garden. You could smell the fishy odour of the pond all this way.

"She lost it."

"What, the placement?"

"The baby. She lost the baby two nights ago." The clatter of the cup crashing on its saucer made him jump though he had been prepared for it. Anything made him jump these days, even his own face in the reflection of the mirror when walking by.

"You didn't even tell me there was a baby! Mycroft how could you...I'm so sorry."

"It didn't come unexpected. They had told us at the clinic that it was unlikely it would have made it through such a crash unharmed since it was still so early. I just thought that now, we would be save, I mean its been about two weeks." He felt tea from the broken cup soak into the sleeves of his shirt, lifted his arm to look at it but dropped it again, unable to come up with an appropriate reaction.

"Mum, please, don't cry, I can't stand it when you do that." He knew she bit her lips withoug having to turn his face towards her. 

"How is she?" He felt the tremble in her voice ripping his bones apart. It echoed in him like a huge bell whose vibrations can be felt from far away. He was unable to grant himself any relief in crying and envied her for her ability to express her distress so openly. He had tried this morning to concentrate and get it over and done with but he was completely unable to produce a single tear.

"She doesn't leave the bed much. Doesn't want to see anyone, not even Jonah." They had spent an entire day in bed, neither of them speaking or moving. They had just been there and listened into the nothingness together. The next morning she had got up and worked through some papers in bed and he had grabbed his coat and kissed her on the forehead before leaving to keep his appointment with his father.

"You shouldn't have left her alone, Mycroft!"

"The appointment with the bank is rather urgent mum, if you don't get the builders in some time soon, that roof will be crashing over your head. I had to transfer some from Switzerland back here. You ought to watch him a little, he's creating rather a mess. There are expenses showing of which he doesn't even know what they are." His voice was firm now. This was well treaded terrain, something he knew how to deal with. She began collecting the shards of the cup in the saucer before answering him.

"What expenses?" He reached inside his jacket and produced a bank statement where he had highlighted a recurring expense of several thousand pounds.

"It's going to an Brasilian account. Every month, mum. Do you know anything about this?"

"I don't, no. I don't think he knows anyone in Brasil. Can't you just ask the bank what that is?" He rolled his eyes but made sure she didn't see it. "I will mum, I'll take care of it, don't worry about it." He put the statements back into his pocket but had to close his eyes when his fingers touched something soft and warm that was in there as well, which he had completely forgotten about. It was one of Sarah's tiny socks, he had picked it up in the garden after John's birthday but had completely forgotten about it. Now it seemed to burn a hole into his chest.

"I should be on my way." She followed him inside as he collected his belongings.

"Are you sure the two of you will be alright?"

"Of course, don't worry."

"Do call me if there is anything you need." He nodded and kissed her cheek. He waved another good bye from the car and immediately turned the recording of a lecture back on. He could deal with anything right now, but not with the silence.


	52. Fools in the Graveyard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geez, I really shouldn't be writing this right now but somehow I! Can't! Stop! Hope you enjoy it as mch as I did writing it, hehe.

"Dr Watson, Holmes on line two." John could barely contain his anger. Sherlock had called him three times today. One time to tell him the mould experiment he had been working on for days had turned out rather nicely. A second time to tell him the fungal spores had indeed been the cause of death with Lestrade's latest case and a third time to tell him Lestrade insisted on taking him to hospital because he had tested the effect of the spores by breathing in a rather generous amount himself.

"Sherlock, if you aren't about to die just now there is no reason to call me."

"I'm sorry Dr Watson it seems I am calling in an inconvenient moment." He took a moment to connect the female voice to Mrs Holmes.

"Oh,uh, Mrs Holmes, I'm so sorry I just thought it was Sherlock, he...how can I help you?"

"I'm so very sorry to disturb you. I was just wondering if it would be possible to have a little conversation sometime without my son attending?"

"Yes, of course, is anything the matter?"

"I'd rather discuss that in person. Are you available today?"

"Yes, when can you be in town?"

"I am here already, actually I am outside your clinic just now." The tendency to bowl somebody a googly seemed to run in the family.

"I have two more patients before my break..."

"I don't mind waiting." The line was disconnected.

 

She chose the darkest corner of the pub and stared at him for some seconds before she began to speak. John felt himself reminded of his first meetings with Mycroft. She looked like any nice old lady but the gravity she had about herself this time surely was intimidating.

"Dr Watson...John, there have been some rather surprising relevations with regard to my family and its connection to what Sherli calls the case, today. I would like to share these with you so you can pass them on to Sherli in a way that doesn't vex him too much. I myself seem rather unfit for this task, he rarely listens to me."

John lifted an eyebrow while taking a sip of his beer. He felt anticipation and fear creep up in him at the same time. She gave him an uneasy smile before she took up the tale again.

"Mycroft came to see us just yesterday, my husband sometimes asks him to go over the books of our house. He is getting a bit frail now and sometimes forgets things, but that is beside the line. Myc came across an account my husband had completely forgotten about and went to the bank this morning to make enquiries about a standing order from this acount to an account in Brasil. It turned out it is an account we once opened for Basil,...my husband's other son."

"There is another one?" It was all he was able to utter. He knew she was waiting for the information to be fully processed before she calmy went on.

"There is indeed. My husband as I'm sure you know, has worked for the same...company as Myc does now. Myc was only about two years old when we were separated for a couple of months and that is when Basil...happened. He grew up with his mother and came to visit us in the summer, but when he was about twelve that stopped because the boys just wouldn't get along." She waved her hands dismissively in the air, a gesture John knew so well. "Basil died during a job he was taking out for the office in Brasil some ten years ago, or so we thought. I mean there was a corpse and a funeral and... but as you know better than anyone else, this means nothing." Her hands now dropped at her sides as if she just now realized herself the full impact of what she was saying. John and she stared at each other for quite a while, before he could bring himself to finish the story for her.

"You suspect he is alive and that it is him who is still drawing money from the account. But what makes you think he is connected to the case in any way?"

"He has always been a strange child and his relationship with Sherlock and Myc was always strained to say the least." There was more to this, he felt it, spending so much time among the Holmes had taught him to catch them on their little gestures that gave them away on attempting to lie by omission. With her it was the twitching of the left eye and a flutter of the corner of the mouth. 

"How exactly do you want me to be of help in the matter?" Her back straightened and her face quickly cleared of any remaining confusion.

"If you could just let Sherlock know about this? Mycroft is not able to deal with it. Indeed, I think Sherlock will have to step in for him with regard to the coordination of the next steps to be taken for a couple of days. He turned up at our house around noon and got into a horrible fight with his father, blaming his sloppiness for Emily's accident and its...aftermath. I have never seen the boy so out of control of himself." It was hard for John to imagine Mycroft blind with rage. But then, not so long ago, he would have bet a fortune on Mycroft not being a human being at all.

 

It wasn't until he closed the door behind his final patient that day that it became clear to him what she had asked him to do. It had been a young mother with her son who needed inoculation administered. The child had cried when he neared him with the injection and turned towards the mother. She had been able to calm him with the simple statement that she knew it wouldn't harm, that she would be watching over him. As the boy had eyed him with suspicion, it had dawned on him. It wasn't the fact that his half brother was alive which would be the unsettling news to Sherlock but that Mycroft was not in control of the situation, that his brother might be fallible and this time unable to provide the safety net.

John reached for his phone. This whole thing asked for more than one man keeping the brothers out of trouble.

"Greg? Is he with you? No, don't pass me on just listen and keep your face in check as you do, alright? I just spoke to their mother, Mycroft isn't doing too well. I need to see him before Sherlock finds out about all this. Can you keep him occupied until let's say eight tonight? Tell him I'll have Mrs Hudson pick Sarah up from daycare."

He sighed a breath of relief and stopped at the traffic lights. The office was just a short walk from here, it was his best bet on where to find him.

"Mr Holmes hasn't been in today, neither has Miss Peerson. Mr Peerson might be available, he usually has an idea where to find them." John gave the porter a grateful nod as he opened the glass doors for him and pointed to an elevator in the corner.

He remembered that Jonah's lab was somewhere on the third floor. He was eyed with suspicion by people on the hallway as he checked the labels of the doors. "Computer forensics, J.Peerson, Dept. M. Holmes" the label said and he knocked before opening the door. As he did, he heard someone move quickly and a chair being pushed into a table. He stuck his head into the room and found Jonah slightly disshevelled and out of breath. The young man behind him as busy collecting paper that had fallen off the table. He was about the same age but taller and rather good looking.

"John! Didn't expect to see you here." He quickly got up and held his hand out to him.

"Sorry to interrupt, I was actually looking for Myc but he isn't here and not at home, do you know where I can find him?" He tried hard to give the impression he hadn't noticed the looks being bandied between the two men.

"I don't think you have met Timothy yet? He is my new assisstant." The handsome face flushed as he held out his hand to John. He took it and smirked.

"This way." Jonah took him to another room, crammed with computers. "Anything happened?" He looked up at him while he waited for one of them to boot.

"Nothing that couldn't be fixed." He tried a smile though he knew the man looked right through it, he had a look on himself not unlike Sherlock's when he caught people on bending the truth. He couldn't help but wonder if it had been there all along or if the boy had acquired it from the brothers.

"Now, don't tell anyone about what you are about to see." He opened a programem and typed in a long code. 

"I dropped that habit a long time ago. Don't worry, your assisstant will not be mentioned either."

Somewhere in the redness on his face he caught an insecure smile. A map appeared on the screen with darts jumping up and down all over London. Jonah scrolled into a red one marked M.H.

"He's at the cementary? John, what is going on?"

John sighed and thought of the days he had been around people that fell for lies at least sometimes.

"He had a fight with his father, their mother is worried and wants me to check on him."

"Fuck him, you would think he would leave him alone at least in moments like this."

There was more than one thing in this reply that startled John but he was in too much of a hurry to go into that.

 

The gravel under his feet would give him away, he knew. Sherlock had gone into quite some detail one night on how he could deduce who was approaching simply from the sounds of the steps on the pavement. It had been John's first week in the flat, it seemed a lifetime ago. The older Holmes however did not turn as he approached. He looked alien standing next to his brother's gravestone actually throwing pebble stones at the trees behind it. Their mother had been right, he was nothing like himself. John kept his distance and watched, knowing the man had noticed him but chose not to face him. Three stones later, he was finally adressed.

"I'm a fool John. A true and utter fool. I have two brothers for whom I have a matching grave each, though they are very much alive. And then I have a child who died before being born, so young I can't bury it. I have a woman I love and who I want to be with me. Being with me will kill her at some point, leaving her will kill me. If I was a man of faith I'd say God is having me on but I am not, so I only got myself to blame."

"I didn't know Mycroft, I'm so very sorry." What else was there to say.

"You know, when you asked Sherlock to come back from the dead, I was standing behind that tree over there to make sure my brother wouldn't change his mind. I watched your life go to pieces, watched my brother break your heart and his own. You have no reason to have sympathy for me." The pebbles hit the tree with much more force by now, the hollow sound echoed through the yard. "I try to keep people save and the family together but I hurt everyone in the process, make everybody hate me and so with good reason. Sherlock hates me, Basil hates me, Jonah will hate me when he sees what I'm doing to his sister and it's only a matter of time that she shall hate me as well."

John kicked the gravel with the tip of his shoes, watching the dust swirl up. He had promised not to tell him but maybe it was about time to break the silence between the brothers for them.

"When you were at the hospital Sherlock told me about his time with Steve." He spoke on though the rain of pebbles on the trees became heavier as he did so. "He told me how you went after anyone who was threatening him or harmed him. You were there every time to save him. The funny thing is, he told me almost exactly the same thing you did just now. He tries to set things right and feels guilty for failing every time. He also thinks he is the cause of each and every misery in your life and he hates himself for it." The pebble rain stopped. Mycroft looked spent and exhausted, his breathing was quick and flat. Somehow John had a sudden vision of the man exploding in front of his eyes.

"Oh. I didn't... expect that." was what escaped from him instead. He finally turned and looked in John's eyes. There was a genuine expression of surprise in them.

 

"Why did John call you?" Greg pinched his nose and tried to think of nice things. Kittens, the weekend, Molly Hooper, a glass of beer. Oh how he yearned for a glass of beer right now.

"He called me to tell you that Mrs Hudson will pick up Sarah so you don't have to hurry tonight." Sherlock looked at him as if he was a naughty child telling a very bad lie.

"Lestrade, that makes no sense at all. He could have called me to tell me that in person. Why did he call you?"

"I told you Sherlock, look can we now get back to this please?" Sherlock knelt down and picked up another scattered finger of the latest victim with his tweezers.

"If it really was a car bomb we probably will find the rest of him somewhere over there." He trotted off and Greg followed with some more plastic bags.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Greg wanted to sound annoyed but instead his fear showed in his voice. Sherlock drew his eyes into two thin lines and stepped closer.

"You're scared. You're scared because you're hiding something from me which you promised John you wouldn't tell me. He asked you to keep me out of the house for some time, because frankly we both know that this case his hardly worth my time or yours but you figured it would keep me busy and it was the best you had at hand right now. So you improvised, which means John is keeping something from me that happened while he was at work. He behaved normally when I called before the completely unneccessary trip to Bart's, which you obviously just insisted on because it gave you a chance to satisfy your pining for Molly. So it happened some time this afternoon during work." 

Greg felt sweat building on his forehead. He felt like a trapped animal. What had he been thinking when he promised to fool Sherlock. John was owing him big time. Sherlock kept going through his deductions at breathtaking speed not minding that he had lost Greg's attention.

"Where are you going?"

"Home obviously. You won't tell me what it is so I'll go and find out. I can smell my brother's involvement three miles against he wind."

Greg reached for his phone and began to dial. Sherlock's head reappeared around the corner of the house.

"If you text him to warn him I'm coming, that was the last time I helped you out with your silly little cases." He winked and disappeared again.

 

"Mycroft Holmes, don't you dare to switch of your phone ever again without telling me where you are! I almost had them get the dogs out to look for you." John couldn't hide a smile at the slight annoyance in Mycroft's face at being surprised the second time this day when Emily appeared behind a tree. She wore a black coat and a shirt, almost a female version of him with that stern look in her face. He saw her carefully place her gun back inside the coat.

"Your mother called, saying she is scared you might do something stupid."

Mycroft huffed and gave the gave the gravestone a slight kick before dropping his head on her shoulder.

"Hi John, will Sherlock be joining this happy family gathering as well?" They both smirked at each other and she placed a soft kiss in the ginger hair on her shoulder. It was amazing how well she hid her worry and grief John couldn't help but think. There was nothing but the slightly clenched teeth that gave her away.

"So what now?" She spoke softly into Mycroft's hair.

"You tell me!" He quickly drew back and the stone received another, more violent kick.

"How about we have dinner and you and Sherlock and Jonah and possibly Emily and me come up with a plan. Because we always do eventually."

Emily gave him a released smile.

"Your place or ours? Chinese or Thai?" He couldn't help but release a relieved laugh at seeing Mycroft pout like that.

"Yours, my kitchen is still missing parts of a wall."

 


	53. Two Brothers Smoking

"What are you keeping from me?"

"And good evening to you Sherlock. How was your day?" John kissed the man's cheek and took Sarah from his arms who was reaching for him.

"Oh, great! I solved a case, was bullied into having my lungs checked and then my partner calls his friend to keep me out of the house and makes him lie to me so he can fraternise with my brother behind my back. I'd say it's been a great day."

"Sherlock, just listen."

"Ah, now you want to talk. But maybe I don't want to any more, Dr Watson." He tried to look untouched and elegant as he turned and walked towards his usual place on the couch. The plan was corrupted by a toy car on the floor that made him stumble as he stepped on it. He had to reach for John's arm so not to fall over.

"Sherlock, come on. Just let me explain alright?" The gravity in his voice and the line between his brows indicated seriousness of topic, it hestiantly forced him into sitting down on the couch next to him. As John spoke, Sherlock's mind produced random memories of his brother and played them out to him. He felt melancholy built within himself. Melancholy that quickly was replaced by something else, that uncomfortable feeling he had experienced at his brother's bedside. Itchy, it made him incredibly itchy and his lungs tight.

"You're alright?"

"Of course I am."

"Good, because you surely don't look like it." John had followed him to the window and stared at him, he could see it in the reflection.

"What proof does he have for Basil being alive?"

"The account, some report by agents in Brasil who claim to have seen him there some weeks ago." Sherlock nodded, still staring at the street below. 

"And how is he?" He could hear John was insecure about how to answer this, the silence streched for a split second too long. The following had been prepared on the way here. Which was all he really needed to know.

"He is alright. He kind of lost it a little this morning, it's kind of much to handle I guess."

"We have been in worse positions than this." John's face still showed uneasiness.

"Sherl, Emily has indeed been pregnant." He closed his eyes for a split second.

"The crash. She alright?"

"Coping."

 

The place was steamy and noisy. Condensed water covered the windows as it had grown dark and cold outside. Mycroft stood in front of her, patiently waiting in line for his order. He had taken her hand as they walked off the graveyard and hadn't let go ever since, not even to reach for his wallet. She pressed closer as new customers pushed into the crowded place behind her. She smelled his aftershave and the earthy scents of their walk in the soft fabric of the coat. His voice vibrated against her cheek when he thanked the waiter.

"Walk?" She nodded and he waved the car off, it vanished slowly in the dark. He reached for his pocket, produced a packet of cigarettes. She watched the curls of smoke leave his mouth and vanish in the night air. It was rare that he smoked but it was something he would do when there was nothing else you could do.

"I'm sorry you worried. I have no idea what happened there, I..." Despite the darkness she knew sweat was pooling on his temples, he swiped them with his sleeve carelessly. The desperation was numbing, his and her own. She curled back into his arm and listened to the breathing and occasional coughing in his chest.

 

The head of black curls and the slender figure seemed to glow in the light of the street lamp. Smoke surrounded him, melting him into the foggy night air. When his brother's steps echoed towards him, he lifted his head, watching him come closer. Shoulders hanging, umbrella carelessly folded, almost dragging over the floor.

"I'll be inside." She took the bag from his hands and passed them by into the bright light of the hallway.

"Those will kill you." His brother sniffed and reached for the packet, Sherlock lit one and raised his eyes towards the windows above, he could hear John's tender voice through the half opened window of the kitchen.

"Hope you don't expect any deep comments, because John said we should probably talk about feelings and stuff."

"From you, never."

"Good." Sherlock sat on one of the stairs and stared into the street. Mycroft gave the slippery and wet stair a careful look but finally gave in and took the place next to him, their knees pressed together. Sherlock sucked in the air of the night eagerly as it was filled with smells of home, one being the wet fabric of his brother's coat and cold tobacco smoke. His mind was desperately trying to produce something witty to say, he was yearning for a slightly annoyed comment from his brother, nothing meant more reassurrance than that. But it wass something else that burned on his mind, demanding to be spoken out loud.

"Do you remember the night I got shot?"

"Of course."

"In my mind, when I realised I could be dying, there was you. You told me to concentrate and I think that made it possible that I saved myself. I mean, um..."

"I think I understand." The moist was creeping up through every gap and into every pore. Sherlock fastened his coat around his body and drew up the collar. The water in the puddles produced hissing sounds whenever a car passed by and he followed each one of them with his eyes. Mycroft kept his eyes firmly fixed on something only he could see in the distance on the other side of the street, holding the cigarette with two fingers and coughing softly at every other drag.

"I never minded having you around, I hope you can believe me that, Sherlock. You were sometimes annoying as...well, but it was worth it every time because you made me feel needed and important and...loved."

"I think I will need to throw up. What the heck happened to you?"

Mycroft huffed and Sherlock felt warmth spread in his body, into every single corner, his cheeks even turned slightly pink.

"What if your children turn out like me?" He caught a  pang of pain passing over the face but it was immediatly followed by a tinge of a smile that broadened itself until it reached his eyes as well.

"Then I would be one of the happiest men alive."

 

Twilight was creeping up over the roofs when they called it a day and Jonah closed his laptop. They had agreed that if it really was Basil who had taken Moriarty's place, it would be likely he would use the wedding as the moment for his final attack. A moment they would all be in the same place, an unmissable chance to get the entire family in one attempt.

"At least try to sleep." Her hair tickled on his bare chest when her face turned up to his with sleepy eyes. He had watched the lights of passing cars move over the ceiling of Sherlock's study. He pulled the sheets more closely around her and kissed the tip of her nose. The new couch in the study was narrow but if he had been able to, he would have drawn her even closer.

"Emmi, the whole thing will be ruined. I had so hoped that it would be a happy memory." She shifted so her face hovered closely over his, her hair falling onto his forehead.

"What if he only thought it to be the wedding?" He drew his eyes together and studied the face above him in the half shades of the night.

"Mycroft Holmes, would you elope with me and get married, like tomorrow?" He stared into the beaming eyes and there they were again, for the first time in weeks, stars were falling on him and he felt able to return the wide smile on her face.

"Emily Peerson, it would be an honour."

 


	54. Elopement

John borrowed him some jumpers and an old backpack which he filled with them and the one suit he would be needing. Her dress got carefully folded on top of it together with two raincoats. The day already promised to become as gloomy as the night before and so he accepted a scarf from his brother before turning towards the door in his borrowed walking boots. Sherlock padded his shoulder and John shook his hand before hugging Emily. In front of the house he took a deep breath giving the light in their kitchen a final look. The straps of the backpack felt unfamiliar on his shoulders and he had to check the plan of the tube lines twice before they found the right line to the train station. They hardly spoke as they sat in the tube next to each other, watching the life of others taking place before them.

She bought sandwiches at the station and laughed at him when he explained about all the illnesses that could be hiding within the plastic wrapping before feeding him a large lump of egg and ham. He barely recognized himself when he saw himself in the reflection of the train's window. He hadn't shaved, ginger stubbles already showed on his chin. Without his jacket he felt oddly naked and reminded himself of an English teacher he once had. She unfolded the newspaper next to him and offered him parts of it which he reclined, happy to watch her read with the same concentration that had once drawn him so irresistably towards her desk at the library.

When he woke again, the town had already come into sight. He peeled himself out of the coat she had draped over him and stretched his legs that had gone slightly numb.

"You're okay?"

He nodded and watched the coastline come into view whenever the train passed one of the deeply green hills. Out of habit he reached for his phone to check the time and smiled when he found it turned off.

 

The track was moderatly crowded with other hikers and they greeted them friendly walking silently next to each other. The stones in the little river were slippery and moved under their feet as they crossed it, she let him take her hand which he pressed with more force than would have been neccessary to stop her from falling off that rock. It was not until then that he began talking, hestitantly at first but slowly falling into a rythm, telling the stories as they came to his mind and she answered them with whatever they brought up in her until they saw the village appear, could smell the harbour and the sea.

 

"Mr and Mrs Holmes? Are you related to Mrs. Charlotte Holmes at the manor?" 

"No, we're from London, just on holiday." He avoided the eyes of the elderly houskeepeer while signing them in.

"These are your keys, breakfast is served downstairs until nine. I hope you enjoy your stay."

The room was simple and contained probably too many flowery decorums to be called pretty. Mycroft opened the doors of the tiny balcony and the wind caught in the curtains, made them swirl like veils in the wind. 

"Promise you will make me go on holiday more often." They watched a ship float by in the distance and listened to some children playing in the street.

"I will, if only to see you wear one of those jumpers." He looked down himself and only now noticed that red reindeers were jumping over his chest.

 

"I told you we should have left earlier, but you insisted on having breakfast." John ignored the comment and gave the herd of sheep surrounding their car a glaring look before returning to the map.

"It's just like my brother to have everybody go to the middle of nowhere just to please his fancy." He sounded the horn again, to no avail.

"If you keep the shouting down, we might not have a whining Sarah on top of everything."

"Jonah, you are spending too much time with my brother, you begin to sound like him." John thought he could see fume coming from Sherlock's ears. He leaned in to whisper in the man's ear:" Don't worry, I will protect you from the evil sheep, they can't open the door." He couldn't help but giggle despite the arrows shooting at him from his lover's eyes.

"He will think I was late on purpose."

"Because you usually are." John carefully opened the door and looked outside to find out if anyone was accompanying the animals. Finally a farmer appeared and the blockade of sheep dissolved.

"Can't believe the lazy git walked all this with her yesterday. I bet he had a car waiting somewhere in case he collapses."

"Sherlock! Stop it, just for today." John sighed and pinched his nose.

 

Sherlock recognized his brother immediatly, he looked quite lost standing under the enormous chestnut trees in front of the church. When he saw them coming up the path, he slid the watch back into his pocket and lifted an arm to greet them.

"John's fault." He hurried past his brother, ignoring the look John and Mycroft shared.

The air inside was cool, little light made it through the coloured glass windows. Sherlock had always felt uncomfortable here, with the tombs of his ancestors lining the walls of the church, watching him down the centuries. It suited Mycroft however, he never could imagine his brother without that history behind him, he somehow seemed connected to all this so much more than he was, the one carrying on the family tree, so proudly inscribed into one of the walls of the oratories.The stories of beheaded knights and war heroes his grandfather had told him had always given him a shiver down the spine. Mycroft had always listened with earnesty, memorizing the names and dates of the Holmes before him. He slightly nodded at him and swallowed down a strange lump of feelings when Mycroft gave gim a quick look as if asking permission a final time before speaking his vows. When John smirked at him, he rolled his eyes defensively before putting his signature down as witness next to his brother's.

 

Mycroft took off his shoes and rolled up the legs of his trousers. They had finished their meal at a small place at the beach, Sunday roast and cake and ice cream. The warm sand between his toes made his heart leap up, the world suddenly seemed so fragile in its perfection of an early summer day at the beach. Lights dancing on the waves, the sound of family woven into the velvet wind. 

"What you're doing?"He looked up into the face of his brother.

"Going for a walk. Want to join me?" Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes. Behind them John and Emily had a fit of laughter over one of Jonah's stories.

"First to be at that boat over there?" Mycroft pointed at a barge half buried in the sand. Sherlock began running before Mycroft was even able to get up from the stair he had been sitting on. He quickly caught up with his brother and pulled him back at his shirt, trying to shoot ahead. Sherlock pushed him away, both men laughing and panting. Sherlock touched down at the barge first, letting out a triumphant yell, throwing both arms into the air. Mycroft bent over trying to catch some breath, still laughing. His heart was pounding hard with excitement and bliss. 

"Sherli, I'm glad you came today." He swiped his face with his arm, eyes closed towards the sun reflecting on the water.

"Consider it my wedding present." Sherlock smirked and playfully mounted a rock nearby to look out over the sea.

"Can't believe you actually got married, you of all people." He threw back his head and closed his eyes, enjoying the sun on his face.

"Says Sherlock Holmes, father to a one year old."

"Guess we both violated some ground rules lately."

"Can't say I regret it, though."

"No, me neither, not a bit."


	55. On a Roof Again

As strange as it appeared to himself when he thought about it in a logical way, the only acceptable way really, he had to admit that sometimes there was more to it than just deduction. Sometimes he sensed who was responsible or the cause without having any real information he could have formulated to go on. The moment the handle of the door in Diogenes Club moved during his hour of going through the international press was such an incident. He felt his brother's presence before he had entered the room, the conversation had begun before they had aknowledged each other's existence, before they had laid eyes on each other for the first time in ten years. And despite this long period of time, despite he had believed him to be dead for the most part of this time, no introduction would be needed, no clarification of meaning. 

"You could at least have faked surprise, you're killing all the fun in this." He placed himself in the chair Mycroft had abandoned as he had entered the room an picked up a newspaper, pretending to browse the headlines.

"You could have put in more effort to surprise me."

"More effort than having you and Sherlock chase me around the globe? More than breaking into every computer system in the country? You're getting greedy."

"Shall we cut to the core? What do you want?"

"Everything. Simply everything. A payback. I will take everything that means something to you and watch as you squirm."

"Care to tell me what should stop me from just shooting you here as you sit on this chair, or even more simply, have you arrested?"

"Nothing. However, you should know that what is going to happen is no longer connected to me, I will happen whether I live or die. A trick I learned from a close friend of mine, I think Sherlock remembers him all too well."

"Friend seems a bit of an understatement here, don't you think?"

"Done your homework, good boy. But then you always were. Never break a rule, not even to save your brother's life. Or mine, you seem to be less strict when it comes to Sherlock in these matters. He killed the one person important to my life, it is a game to him, he and you, you play with people when you get bored."

"That story has two sides. Besides you made it quite impossible to argue in your favour. Passing on material to the other side and expecting me to bail you out when they came for you because you were only loyal to yourself."

"And then it was just so convenient, wasn't it? The perfect chance to get rid of me, to finally be dad's only pet. The one who made it, pride of the family. A family that won't exist any more by tomorrow."

"How melodramatic. I hope your tendency towards exaggeration does not get in the way with your plan."

Basil smiled and neatly folded the newspaper on top of the chair, before leaving without another word.

 

John recognized the place the picture had been taken immediatly. The setting was burned onto his brain and heart like little other memories. It was the piazza he had met Sherlock that one night at Rome. It was no doubt it was Sherlock but there was also no doubt of who the other man was. Young, blonde, skinny, Jonah. Sherlock's long finger were tangled in the young man's hair, head cocked to the right, mere inches between their lips. The date was it that made it even more scandalous, it was the day before Sherlock had returned to London, the day before John had moved back into Baker Street. He klicked print and reached for his phone.

 

She had called to pay her tuition fees when they told her the account had already been settled. She told them it would have to be a mistake and was sent an email with a copy of the payment. He hadn't even taken the effort of disguising his name. As anger rose to unbearable heights, she reached for her phone.

 

He had waited for over an hour in the usual place, but Timothy hadn't turned up. The phone was dead, so he got a taxi and turned up in front of his door. It was a very short conversation they had over the squawk box in which a crying Timothy informed him Mycroft had fired him and told him to keep away from him if he ever wanted to get any job in London again. Struck by thunder he reached for his phone.

 

Mycroft ignored all the calls but typed out a message to Sherlock. 

Eastwind has arrived. Get ready to face the storm. MH

 

Understood. The usual place. SH

 

He saw him arrive from the top of Bart's. He walked with a slight stoop, the umbrella not held in its middle like weapon ready to be used. As Mycroft made his way up, he sensed a movement behind him, a mere shift of air, less than a wind, that sent a shiver down his spine.

Mycroft stopped next to him, looking down onto the city, breathless from the endless flights of stairs.

"He packed his stuff and left." His voice was sore, his brother's eyes were reddened.

"She didn't even come home. I have no idea where she is." Mycroft sweeped his face with the inside of his coat's sleeve. There was a silence before the door opened again and Basil took a position between them.

"And there we are, on a roof again. Had a nice day?" He clapped his hands when there was no answer.

"You really thought you got away, didn't you? That you could join the ranks of the normal, get a cosy life with someone to mollycuddle you. And now they left you behind, they didn't hesitate a minute to believe the atrocities about you. They always suspected you to be odd, to behave selfish like you have so often."

"You got your revenge, what else do you want?" Sherlock crossed his arms behind his back, looking down on the streets. 

"Make you an offer. Your life here is in ruins. No one will have you back. You can either go back to your miserable, lonely life or you finally accept that you don't belong here and put your talents to some proper use."

Mycroft threw back his head and gave a sarcastic laugh. "You want to get us join your side?" He kept giggling, looking down at the city rushing by. "Time for me to get home." The umbrella gave an angry swirl before the door fell into its lock.

Sherlock stepped close enough to the edge that the tips of his shoes lost contact with the floor. Somewhere in his head a very familiar voice screamed his name and he caught himself checking the street for John's figure.

"What about you? Not going home?" He looked in Basil's face, the familiarity was evident. He had hardly known him as a boy, mostly knew what Mycroft had told him about him. His mother had never spoken badly about him, so she had said close to nothing about him. His brother and father were quite clear about their opinion which made it quite suspicious in his eyes.

"I'm not in a hurry. Care to elaborate?"


	56. Seperation

The place was screaming "eccentric and proud of it" from every corner. Sherlock took a careful look around processing all the information offered by his brother's flat, well aware it was a mere propped stage, that he was only given information he was supposed to get. Jim's picture was on the mantlepiece, bigger than strictly neccessary, the sense for drama clearly ran in the family. Out of habit reached to feel for the little picture he kept of John in the inside pocket of his coat, nothing as dramatic but still revealing the same manic sentiment by the way its edges were worn and the face slightly faded from constant touching. The thought of John certainly wasn't the best one at the moment, pondering his unhealthy attachment to the man would have to wait. Basil had not missed the look he had given Jim's face on what after all resembled an altar, a silver candlestick by the frame and nothing else to distract the viewers attention from the portrait.  
"He would be pleased to know you found the courage to join the winning team in the end." Basil smiled a strange smile as his eyes went back and forth between Sherlock's face and the picture.  
"He tried to kill me, that's a strange way to ask me."  
"When he wanted something he could get a little extreme in his measures, I grant you that. I will never forget how he held my former employer at gunpoint when he wouldn't give me the leave I had asked for." The sentimental smile on Basil's face send a shiver own Sherlock's spine.  
"The two of you had so much in common."  
"What exactly is the plan now, Basil?" Sherlock asked, anxious to change the topic. He accepted the glass he was offered and wandered into the spacious living room. Basil booted a computer on the ebony desk and pressed Sherlock gently in the leather chair before it. 

Mycroft listened to the silence in the house staring out of the window in his study, the soft rawl of water in the pipes the only perceivable noise. Only when she was gone he noticed how much the house had changed since her arrival. Her presence was impossible to ignore, wherever he turned he found stray clothing, paper that showed off her handwriting, her crumpled towel on the bathroom floor. She was incredibly messy and he loved her for it. He loved how he had to rearrange the cushions on the couch everytime she had sat on it, loved that she left little traces of life behind wherever she went. He loved the way she laughed and kissed his forehead when he told her off for leaving important files on the nightstand. He loved how she understood it was his way of taking care of her when he folded her shirt over the chair when she had abandoned it in some corner. There were stains of her hand on the shiny surface of the desk and he could not bring himself to erase them. Once the cleaner came in she would be erased, all traces of her existence gone anyway.  
The flash of light from the monitor broke the grey twilight when the line was established. He opened it and watched someone arranging the camera before she took her place in the chair. They stared at each other for a while before she finally broke the silence.  
"How is it going?"  
He cleared his throat. It was evident from her voice that she did not like her role in the litle game they were playing.  
"According to plan. How are you?"  
"Bored out of my mind and so is John. Some time you will have to explain to me why it's always me who gets send away when it gets interesting."   
He stopped the words just when they were about to drop from the tip of his tongue, those words about his heart breaking every time he saw her face, about how unbearable his feelings for her sometimes became.  
"He had to believe you were gone, you know that." She rolled her eyes and he wanted to cover her in kisses. A memory of his lips on her neck suddenly surfaced without permission, he erased it by concentrating on an inkstain on her forehead.  
"I'm not even allowed outside. This is just mental."  
"Emmi, I love you."  
She was obviously startled by the reply and he could almost see her mind running through possible causes of such an untypical outburst of sentiment. When he saw her checking the background for any signs that he wasn't alone, he couldn't help but smile.  
"There's nothing wrong, I just thought I mention it." Her eyes relaxed.  
"You and him, have you been friends for a long time?"  
"We worked together once or twice. Why? You don't get along?"  
She shrugged. "No, it's fine. I just...I don't know, I thought he was a myth."  
He laughed and put his head in his hands, giving her a long, amused look. "In a sense he is."  
"He wanted to talk to you. James?" Her face disappeared from the screen, he heard her voice echoing down some hallway.  
"Myc, good to see you!"  
"James, thanks again for letting them stay."  
"My pleasure. I have to say I was curious to meet her, there are just too many crazy rumours about the two of you around, well, the whole bunch of you anyhow." A grin spread over his face when Mycroft blushed.

 

Sherlock turned uneasy on the bed in Basil's guestroom. He had twice believed to hear John breathing somewhere in the room and once caught himself checking for any sounds of Sarah. If ever he had wondered why sentiment should be a disadavantage, he now understood. He checked the little tracking device on the back of his watch once more, once he would turn it off, Mycroft knew it would be time to act. If he did it too early, all would have been in vain once more if he pressed it too late, a lot of people would die.  
"Evacuation is just too obvious. We'll have to risk it. " Mycroft had bit his lip as they were leaning over the draft of the plan in Lestrade's kitchen.   
"Bloody fuck!" the detective had sworn when they had broken the news to him that the office would be Basil's final target.   
"Bloody fuck indeed." Despite the graveness of the situation, the memory of his brother swearing produced a smile on Sherlock's face that took him himself by complete surprise.


	57. Wedding Presents

They watched the little green dot move through the building, stopping on several occasions. Lestrade noted the places down. Mycroft hadn't spoken since they both had entered his office. It was the most strange feeling to know they were moving somewhere around them but there was nothing to be done just now. 

"They're in the basement. Make sure they don't see you." The black mask on the screen nodded at them before gesturing oders at the men behind him.

When the green dot vanished from the screen, noise filled the office from the speakers. Lestrade's voice was tense but steady, Mycroft muttered into his own microphone at his wrist. Sherlock's face appeared on the screen, he was running at full speed towards the policemen. They didn't actually see Basil's face when the door was broken down but his voice was audible somewhere in the turmoil and when there were shots, Mycroft grabbed his gun and stormed down the hall.

"They disarmed all of them." Sherlock wiped his face, the sweat was still trickling into his eyes. His brother nodded but kept his eyes on the corpse, the hands in the black gloves were shaking slightly.

"I'm pretty sure it was his plan in the first place, he made a comment like that the other day. He said he would leave something behind for us whatever way today would end. Not yet sure what to make of that." Mycroft knelt down and closed Basil's eyes with two finger then turned the head into a less unnatural position. The blood was everywhere in the dark cellar room. One of Mycroft's men entered, he grabbed a pen from inside his jacket and signed several papers. He handed back the file and clicked the pen before slowly moving out of the room, passing Sherlock.

 

"You think it's odd we don't react to his death...sentimentally I mean?"

"Since when do you care?"

"I don't, I just wonder sometimes. Who are you calling?"

"Mummey. She better tells dad before the police does." Mycroft lifted the phone to his ear, watching his brother's face from the corner of his eye.

 

"And what is that supposed to be?" She held the object up for him to see eyeing it like a dangerous insect.

"It's a mustard spoon." He carefully noted down the name from the card before folding the wrapping and flattening the paper box the spoon had come in. The floor before them already was covered in wrapping paper.

"Our mustard comes in a tube."

"I know."

"I'm pretty sure Myc can also use it to spoon cake." Sherlock took the spoon and put it on his nose pulling faces at his brother.

"Why am I always the only grown up in here?" Mycroft massaged his temples giving John a pleading look.

"Don't look at me for help, I just know you will never be short of salad bowls again." John held out a porcellaine one with gold flowers all over. Mycroft sighed and added the item to his list.

"How many people exactly again?"John ran his hands through his hair turning in the middle of the sea of wrapped parcels piling on the living room floor. Even the cherished piano was covered.

"Seventy-six of which Emmi invited four and Myc seventy because he felt he had to." The comment was replied by a ball of wrapping hitting Sherlock directly in the face. 

John immediatly noticed something was wrong from the way Mycroft forgot to fold the wrapping paper. He looked at the tiny cuddly toy lamb with a musical box inside. His eyes wandered to find Emily checking if she had noticed before he tucked it under a pile of paper and only put a name down on the list. She had noticed and found his arm and pressed it without looking up from the box she was unpacking. 

"I can't believe you get so many presents for a fake wedding."Jonah was lounging on his customary armchair, fiddling with his phone. 

"You will keep that little piece of information to yourself tomorrow, will you? You'll spoil everybody's day by telling them about our little trip the other week." Her brother rolled his eyes and gave his pocket watch a look before strolling to the kitchen.

 

"I'm sure it is my father you want to talk to about his belongings. We agreed he would be dealing with this." Mycroft now got slightly annoyed as he tried to lace his shoes while the solicitor on the other end of the line insisted it needed to be him running into town to deal with Basil's testimony.

"I can't come in today, I'm getting married in an hour, sort of." Emily gave him a worried look hearing him raise his voice from the living room.

"By all means, you know my address."

"What's so urgent he has to come here today?" Sherlock ried to put a tie on John, giving his brother a look over the mirror.

"He wouldn't tell me because it is no matter to be dealt with over the phone. Ridiculous to the utmost. Emmi, do you have the..."

"Yes."

"And..."

"With Jonah."

 

"First of all my congratulations Mr. Holmes." The greyish figure gratefully took the seat Mycroft offered in the study. 

"Sherlock!" There was no reason he should be doing it all by himself again. His brother appeared out of the nothing but apparently rather willing to take part in this. As he closed the door behind him, the solicitor began unpacking his bag.

"As I mentioned before, my father will be dealing with any belongings if there are any other than that flat." He took his position opposite stapling his hands in front of him. 

"Belongings is not quite a word I would use in this context, Mr Holmes." He shifted some pages before a little photograph appeared, which he put on the table for both of them to see. Sherlock cocked his head, leaned nearer before releasing a breath in surprise that ned in some sort of whistle, stepped back again and looked at him, a look of complete bewilderment on his face.

"Who's the mother?" The statemanslike face turned towards Sherlock who had picked up the picture, giving the small curly head a second, fascinated look.

"A young lady in Brazil, she was killed in a car accident about a year ago."

"Car accident? Not overly creative. Is there proof for that?"

"Excuse me?" It was now the solicitor's turn to be puzzled.

"Proof that she is indeed dead?"

"Well I have a copy of the certificate..."

"Never mind." Mycroft got up giving Sherlock a warning look. "Where is the boy now?" 

The man cleared his throat, shifting his attention back to him from Sherlock who had taken the picture to the window, giving it another investigating look. "He is with youth welfare. He simply turned up on their doorstep with a name tag attached. Richard, that is. It was pure coincidence they were able to make the connection to your brother."

"No it wasn't." Sherlock intervened not looking up from the photograph. 

"Sherlock. Never mind." Mycroft simply waved the intervention away with his hand. "Has he left any instructions upon where and with whom the boy is to live in case of...well."

"That's why I am here, Mr Holmes." The man put both hands on the desk, leaning towards Mycroft who avoided his eyes for a moment, staring at the door as if asking it for its opinion.

"She's the last to mind, Myc."

"And it's absolutely certain that that boy..."

"He's the spitting image of us, Myc. Who are you trying to fool?" Sherlock held out the picture to him in his palm and Mycroft felt something shifting in his chest.

"I'm sorry to come in with news like that on a day like this but the matter doesn't admit of delay."

"Of course. I will be at your office first thing in the morning. But you understand that this I must discuss with...family before making decisions."

"Of course." He shook his hand and nodded at Sherlock who pressed a smile.


	58. Richard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks! I finished this monster and it feels rather strange. Though I didn't get many comments I still make myself believe at least some read up to this point. I know I put your patience to a test, I never thought this would become so long.  
> I'm actually thinking about a sequel to this, something about Richard and Sarah growing up with the brothers. Let me know what you think!

The people were acting strange. The woman he had lived with for the last two days packed the clothing back into his red suitcase. He had been made bathing and his hair had been combed by her. He didn't like it, the brush always tugged on his hair. 

"He is your uncle. I think you will like him.He is very happy to meet you." The house looked strange, dark and very big. 

"He lives here?"

"No, Richard, we came here to meet him." She knocked at a large, dark wooden door. A voice inside asked them in. There were two desks next to the window and another woman. She shook his hand and lead him in. The man was tall and wore a black coat. He had funny red hair. When he saw him he knelt down and held out his hand.

"Hello Richard, I'm Mycroft." The voice was strange. Like he had cried. He didn't take his hand because his was sticky and dad had told him that was impolite. So he tried to wipe it on his trousers.

"You are my uncle." The man nodded.

"Do you live here?" 

"No, I live in a house in London. How old are you Richard?"

"Four." He held out his hand to make sure the funny man understood.

"Richard, do you know what happened, why you can't live with your father any more?"

"Dad and Jim are dead." The man nodded again.

"And I live at your house now?"

"I very much hope you will like it. I live there with Emily. And you have another uncle, they are all looking forward to meet you."

"Do you have cookies at your house? I'm hungry." The man wiped his eyes with his arm and smiled.

"Let's see if we can find some, shall we?" His uncle got up and held out his hand again.

 

He got impatient waiting in front of the office of his supervisor, these appraisal interview were a wast of his precious time. When the door opened he stiffened his back and marched in, determined to make it back to Baker Street in time for lunch.

"Good morning Mr. Holmes, please have a seat."

"Good morning."

"With your permission I will start right away." She took a form from a drawer and clicked her pen.

"Have their been any changes to your private situation since our last interview?" She didn't look up but scanned the options the form held.

"Yes."

"And what has changed?"

"Everything."

 


End file.
